


The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior

by TheHeartOfAMandalorian



Series: The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior Saga [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Din Djarin Whump, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Hurt Din Djarin, Hurt/Comfort, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Medical Procedures, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, POV Din Djarin, POV Multiple, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 38
Words: 189,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22092805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHeartOfAMandalorian/pseuds/TheHeartOfAMandalorian
Summary: A healer is being hunted by Imperial stormtroopers in a peaceful, small village on a distant arid planet. The Mandalorian happens to be visiting as well. Their encounter turns into a dangerously exciting adventure. Important revelations are discovered.Warnings: Blood and gore mention, medical jargon, medical procedures, and swearing. Typos. Mediocre writing.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior Saga [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590202
Comments: 25
Kudos: 118





	1. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode I: The Beskar Tin Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A healer is being hunted by Imperial stormtroopers in a peaceful, small village on a distant arid planet. The Mandalorian happens to be visiting as well. Their encounter turns into a dangerously exciting adventure. Important revelations are discovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –>This is based on the Star Wars’ The Mandalorian Disney Plus series, following Season 1′s events. I do not own or am affiliated in any way with Star Wars, The Mandalorian, Disney Plus or its characters. (I’ve never written fanfiction before...can Disney sue me? Oh well, here goes nothing...)

Smooth, cool Beskar gleams beneath my cheek. 

_Where am I? What happened?_ floods my thoughts.

A dull ache at the base of my skull warns of lost memories that had occurred just moments before. The smell of hot metal and ash waft to my nose, triggering some fragmented events to cascade back into recollection as my blurry vision adjusts:

_Minutes earlier, there had been stormtroopers - my eyes settle upon physical proof of motionless white armor nearby._

_My door was kicked down, my practice raided - I see the debris scattered._

_They had come to take me back...but they were also looking for something..._

The rise and fall of _his_ chest snatches me from the thought.

 _Him_ \- the Mandalorian warrior beneath me - he’s the strong, shadowy figure who had shielded me. There had been blaster fire...and an explosion - the memories start falling into place. 

Now he lays still. Peaceful.

But terror quickly creeps into my senses, the reality of the situation sinking deep. I'm horrified of returning to Imperial servitude. My instinct is to run - fast and far.

However, as a healer, I had taken an oath and must ensure my protector is free from serious injury. 

The steady up and down of his chestplate tells me he's breathing - _airway must be clear_ , I note as my breath leaves momentary condensation on his chest armor.

I lift carefully to sit upward and my vision continues to clear, but the ache in my skull blossoms anew to remind me of the blow I had endured from the officer-in-command in his desperate attempt to force from me information I did not know. 

I reach back to find a dime-sized subcutaneous hematoma. The skin is intact. I’ll be fine - the passed-out metallic man is my main concern at the moment.

I'd never met a Mandalorian before, but their reputation far precedes them. Famed as the most skilled and ruthless warriors to exist. His form now looks so vulnerable - that unmistakable Beskar armor seems to soften.

As sit next to him, my eyes sweep his form for obvious injuries in the dim light. They catch the velvety sheen of deep red blood as it trickles from just below his mid-left clavicle. There's a puncture in the saturated, layered fabric, near the strap of his bandolier. I discern he’s likely human beneath all the armor, and he definitely needs medical attention.

I next turn my attention to standing. My equilibrium settles and the ache in my head mellows. And as quickly as my still-shaky legs allow, I begin rummaging in the ruins of my practice for salvageable supplies and equipment.

It doesn't take long before I’m sorely disappointed to discover most of it damaged beyond repair. 

_Dammit._

I reach in my satchel and my fingers take note of the round form of my scanner, a couple bottles of antimicrobial solution, and some mist vials of bacta, which is only useful alone for more superficial wounds. Deeper required my beskar needle and antibiotic biosynthetic thread.His wound likely necessitated the latter.

_Where is that damned needle and thread?_

At the new height, my lungs start to burn and I cough into my forearm as a current of smoke and ash floats in from outside. My bleary eyes glance at the bloodied, jagged fragments of stormtrooper armor scattered about the ruins of my office. The suns outside have not yet risen, but light dances around from the smoldering wreckage of a spaceship just outside in the street - no doubt the source of the white hot, deafening explosion that had knocked me and the Mandalorian backward just minutes ago. 

_How did they find me? Why in this peaceful village, the village to which I had come to leave this brutality behind just months before?_ I can’t help but think this is all my fault. 

_It is my fault._

Then he starts to stir - grit shifting underneath his figure.

A low groan, modulated from his helmet, fills the space between us thicker than the smoke. I rush to his side, dropping to my knees, reaching to help orient him. 

Viper-quick reflexes grip my wrist.

“Who are you?” his gruff, modulated voice demands as the dark slitted glass of his helmet stares menacingly. The firm grip on my wrist tightens, urging an answer.

“I’m a healer.” I report, keeping my nerves in check. “You saved me. And now I would like to return the favor. You're injured and losing blood.” My gaze motions to his shoulder with a nod. “Please let me help,” I plead with concerned eyes peering into his tinted T-visor. The glass is seemingly impenetrable.

A few tense moments pass searching his unwavering dark glass for permission before the leather grip finally loosens.

“I'm fine,” he claims, shifting to sit upright, but his breath hitches and he stops still. I can tell the injury is worse than he's letting on.

"Please, let me help. There could be debris in your wound - it could cause more damage," I try to reason with the sharp angles of his helmet.

He attempts moving his injured shoulder and a stunted grunt escapes him and he tenses.

"It could be serious," I warn.

His visor angles to stare at me.

"I'll be quick," I bargain.

He continues staring and I do the same. His gaze briefly shifts to outside, panning sideways as if scanning the area. 

"Fine, quick," he smoothly rumbles in half-defeat. "I don't see anymore Imps at the moment, but that can change fast."

 _Neuro status seems intact_ , I note as he rests back down, laying supine.

“Deal,” I reply, reaching into my satchel and grasping my scanner.

In a blink, his blaster is aimed at my head.

“Woah, look,” I slowly remove my hand from the bag to convince him of the benevolent nature of my medical device. “It’s just an internal scanner so I can assess your injuries and vitals.”

The slit of dark glass doesn’t appear fully convinced, but his arm gradually lowers his weapon and rests with a _clink_ against his cuirass. Flickers of the flames outside dance shadows over his mysterious, chiseled, and deadly form. 

_Why am I helping him?_ I could just run and escape to another planet, fleeing from this destruction. But he did save my life - and more importantly, it’s my duty as a physician. Plus, he’s far from the most difficult patient I’ve dealt with. And much less handsy so far.

“I’m going to take a look at your left shoulder and upper chest,” I say confidently and calmly, motioning with my hand. “It appears to be the source of the bleeding from what I can tell in this terrible lighting. And don’t worry - I won’t remove your armor, but I might need to get underneath.” 

“Hmmmm,” he acknowledges in what could be considered more of a grunt. 

“Beskar, right?” I ask, gesturing to his chestpiece, trying to make small-talk. My scanner won’t penetrate through that, so I aim it over the wound and downward toward his heart and lungs to assess the damage and obtain vitals. 

He remains still and silent, tensely gazing with his dark helm. _Man he’s a talker._

I study the image on the scanner. The wound is about a few centimeters deep and a sharp foreign body roughly the size of an Imperial coin is lodged within, likely some debris from the explosion. I note a heart rate of 89-96 BPM, average BP 125/85 mmHg, and sinus rhythm with an occasional, harmless PVC in the minute I hover. His lungs expand and contract with ease, no fluid build-up or damage observed, 20 RPM and SpO2 99%. He is indeed human. And slightly tachycardic and tachypneic, likely from pain. There are no concerns regarding his cardiopulmonary functions. I prop the scanner on the gritty floor against some debris to continue monitoring his vitals and set it to projection mode.

“There’s shrapnel lodged in your upper chest. Good news is that it appears to have missed all major blood vessels,” I quickly report. “However, I’ll need to remove the foreign object.” I stare at his T-visor for his consent to treat him.

All is quiet save the crackling of wreckage outside.

“Fine,” he monotonically replies. 

\------------------

_He isn’t quite sure why he’s humoring me, but if I can make the sharp pain in his chest subside, it will be worth the extra time._

_\------------------_

“Fuck,” I spit, exasperatedly glaring around the ruins of my exam room. 

“What’s wrong?” he inquires, head shifting to better see me.

“I don’t have my surgical equipment. It’s likely buried gods know where under this debris,” I shake my head in frustration, gesturing to the dilapidated remnants of _my_ office.

“Wait… _surgical_ equipment?” his modulated voice falters a bit. “I thought you said it missed major structures.” The scanner picks up his quickened heart rate (120s BPM) and a few PVCs.

 _Someone does not like needles._

He attempts sitting up.

“Woah cowboy, let’s have you rest back down.” I sternly lay a hand on his good shoulder. “We don’t need that shrapnel shifting and puncturing anything more vital,” I assert. “I just need some medical tools to help remove the foreign object - no cutting involved.”

His gleaming helmet stares at me and stare stubbornly back.

\------------------

_Her piercing aquamarine gaze cuts through his visor like a knife._

This one isn't backing down _, he thinks. He resists the urge to disobey and lowers his torso back to the ground._

\------------------

“I need to get back to my ship,” he impatiently grunts as I prod around in my medic bag. 

“Your ship doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, anytime soon,” I gesture to the burning wreck outside.

“That’s not my ship. That was the commanding officer’s,” he smoothly replies.

I then realize it must have belonged to the Imp who’d been attempting to coerce information from me. I have no doubt the Mandalorian had everything to do with its current state of indisposal. 

“Well your ship will have to wait a few minutes longer…Aha!” My fingers find my forceps, Beskar needle, and biofiber thread, hidden in that dumb, small, impossible-to-find pocket inside my bag. 

He lifts his heavy head quizzically.

“I found the supplies I need,” I elaborate.

“How long will this take?” he grumbles.

“If the bleeding stays under control, not too long,” I vaguely reply sing-songingly, repositioning the scanner, which displays BPM 97, RPM 18, BP 133/95 mmHg, SpO2 98%, and sinus rhythm. “I’m going to start,” I warn, moving aside the tattered periphery of cloth to better expose the injury.

A subtle rush of air crackles from his helmet as I introduce my forceps, advancing slowly into the wound. I carefully grasp the shrapnel using the projected scanner image as reference given the poor lighting. The tip of the forceps grasps the edge of the foreign body and I delicately angle it out, careful not to cause more damage. He grunts and his chest heaves as it dislodges, but luckily the wound doesn’t start bleeding any worse.

“Got it!” I exclaim in victory holding the bloodied scrap of what appears to be metal from the ship outside.

“Good. Are we done now?” he irritatedly breathes and starts sitting up again. 

“Not so fast, I still need to stitch you up,” I nearly hiss, my patience for his impatience growing thin. I reach for my beskar needle and biofiber thread. 

“That isn’t necessary,” he urges, dismissing me with a gloved hand.

\------------------

 _This one is very persistent,_ he thinks.

\------------------

“If you want it to heal more quickly and properly, yes it is,” I sternly insist, staring into his dark helmet. _Damn he is a stubborn one._

His shoulders eventually soften and he reluctantly lowers back toward the ground. 

\------------------

 _He still doesn’t know why he’s allowing this petite, exceedingly pale woman dictate to him the shots…well, other than actual medical service. And it sure beats the cauterizer,_ he reasons.

He continues keeping an eye out for any sign of company.

\------------------

Satisfied no other foreign materials reside within the wound from the scanner image, I spray some bacta over the injured tissue to quick-start the healing process. It’s too deep for that alone, so I thread my needle and brace his shoulder.

\------------------

_He can’t help but notice the kind touch - touch he hasn’t felt for years, hells decades._

_\------------------_

“You’re going to feel some pressure,” I warn as I push the needle through his exposed, bloodied flesh, which rudely jolts him from his previous thought. He flinches ever-so-slightly, grunting a bit and muttering some non-Basic language under his breath, likely curse words. The bacta thankfully also has some analgesic properties, but that might be a generous claim. I repeat 12 passes with the thread which approximates the wound quite nicely. As I tie the end and snip the fiber, I feel his warm, strong, and now steady pulse coursing beneath my fingertips. 

“All done,” I successfully report, a victorious grin on my face.

“Thank you,” he almost affectionately responds, dark glass staring into my eyes. 

_I wonder when he last felt the touch of another on his skin…or if he ever had. Or perhaps that was a naive thought._

Suddenly, something shifts outside and he’s up in an instant, blaster drawn and shielding me. 

“Do you think someone is out there?” I breathily whisper, adrenaline coursing and senses heightened.

“Not sure,” he rasps. “I’m taking you to my ship.”

“What? No - No way! Look, while I’m very grateful for your help earlier…no offense, we just met and for all I know you brought this trouble to my village in the first place,” I quickly contest, knowing all too well it’s likely my past that brought hellfire raining down on this innocent town. _The Imps will keep coming after me._

His dark helmet imposingly stares as a few moments pass. I know he isn’t going take ‘no’ for an answer and, honestly, this Mandalorian is likely my best chance at survival. I’m not dumb enough to think I can go this alone any longer. I need help…but I still don’t have to like it.

“Fine,” I scoff, losing my staring-contest with the helmet.

“Stay behind me.” He guards me with his strong, armored arm. Feeling I’ve forgotten something, I glance back and notice I’d left my scanner. I disobey and shuffle to grab it from the grit. Before I can react, my foot catches on something and I tumble, causing rubble to noisily shift.

 _Fuck_ , I curse in my head, scowling at the trooper remains that caused my fall.

Suddenly blaster shots rain through the remains of my front office and I duck to the gritty floor.

The Mandalorian returns fire with exceeding speed and accuracy… _well not so accurate_. The enemy continues rapid return fire. I can see the Mandalorian warrior is absolutely in his element, and I _briefly_ admire his strength in my adrenaline rush. 

“I said stay behind me!” he reprimandingly grumbles as he shoots toward the enemy.

“I need my scanner. The scanner that helped me treat you, by the way!” I loudly retort as I reach out to collect my prized possession. 

“Stay low!” he orders. Red plasma fire again spatters around what’s left of my office. 

“No problem!” I yell, flattening to the ground and shielding my head with my hands.

“We want the healer! We know she’s alive!” the ominous voice shouts from outside. 

My blood freezes. 

The Mandalorian returns a dozen more shots. 

Then silence. 

_It seems too quiet._

I shift and peer toward the Mandalorian as he peeks around an open crater in what used to be the entrance to my practice. The fire from the wreckage casts dancing shadows on the street and buildings outside.

Suddenly, a green beam flashes and hits the Mandalorian square in the chest, sounding a loud metallic thunk. 

.

.

.

But all it does is push him back a few centimeters. _Beskar is impenetrable to blaster shot._

Now truly irritated, he heaves himself through the hole in the wall and returns fire as shots bounce off his armor like heavy rain off a parasol. 

“We want the healer!” the enemy’s deep, modulated voice chides. “Turn her over and you might live. Don’t, and we’ll kill you and take her anyway!” 

“You’re not taking her!” the Mandalorian proclaims, voice gruff and heavy with determined anger. He now reaches for the long weapon strapped to his back, flipping it forward with practiced motion, and fires into the spot the enemy is holding, flushing him out. 

A dark stormtrooper appears, likely the only survivor from the previous fight. With his hands up, he surrenders. 

_That seems too easy…I fear it’s a trap._

“Fine, keep the healer,” the trooper announces, voice dripping with deceit. 

The Mandalorian shortens the distance between them, flickering light masking the dark trooper’s true intentions. 

A long vibroblade suddenly appears in the trooper’s grasp and slashes down on the Mandalorian’s injured shoulder. I watch in horror trying to keep quiet as the Beskar warrior cries out in pain, crouching to his feet.

 _No!_ my inner voice screams, threatening to escape my lips. The Mandalorian then draws his own vibroblade from his boot and slashes into the trooper’s thigh, causing the Imp to reel back.

The two figures dance around each other, mirroring the flames of the wreckage, blades clashing and slashing at one another. Judging from the glistening red ribbon trickling down his cuirass, the Mandalorian is losing more blood. He will likely fatigue soon from that rate of blood loss. I feel I have to do something, and fast.

I look around the disaster of my office. Near the dead hand of the trooper I’d tripped on earlier, I spot a blaster. It looks intact. I figure I’m proficient enough in my past training to use it. This goes against my healer oath, but I owe it to my Mandalorian savior to at least try to help. And plus I loathe Imps.

The two figures continue their fight. The Mandalorian’s shoulder continues bleeding heavily and he looks to be tiring from his unsteady footing. Then suddenly, the dark trooper changes direction and swiftly plunges his sword into Mandalorian’s shoulder again. It pierces deep. 

The Mandalorian hoarsely cries out, falling to his knees, and the Imp violently rips the blade from his chest. The dark trooper then holds his blade high, aiming to decapitate the defeated Mandalorian warrior. 

I don’t hesitate as I take aim at the dark trooper’s neck, at a spot right where the helmet ends beneath the chin just in case his armor is blaster-resistant. I pull the trigger.

.

.

.

The dark trooper’s blade falls toward the Mandalorian…

.

.

.

along with the limp weight of his body. 

My shot was true. _The trooper is dead._

I run over the debris, feeling the heat of the flames and breathing the soot as I close the distance between me and the injured Mandalorian. He’s bleeding much more heavily than before, his metallic chest heaving.

“Are you ok?” he forces through labored breath.

“I’m doing much better than you…and dammit I think you ripped my stitches!” I joke as I assess the damage - nasty lacerations and stab wounds to his left shoulder in the same area as his previous injury. _That trooper fucker knew where to take his aim._

“You can treat me at my ship,” he urges through gritted teeth, dark glass peering into my eyes and breastplate still heaving.

I don’t argue. _It likely won’t be long before more of the trooper’s cronies show up._

He struggles to shift to his feet, breathing heavily and painfully. I lean in to help brace him and he accepts my assistance. He peers into my eyes, dark glass flickering.

“Thank you,” he gently speaks before letting go to stand on his own. 

\------------------

_He feels his Beskar-protected heart soften at my unsolicited willingness to help._

\------------------

“For what?” I smile. “It was a damned lucky shot!” I modestly exclaim. _I suddenly feel like a badass._

He grunts, reaching for his long rifle on the ground and resecuring the weapon gently on his bandolier.

The first sun now crests over the rocky horizon. I can better see the destruction that had fallen upon the village that so welcomed me a couple months before. I can smell burning flesh and blood mixed with the sandy terra. 

A figure lays in the street. My gut sinks and bile creeps on the back of my parched tongue.

My friend, Q’uijalah, is lying with death’s unmistakable shroud on her bloodied face, near the bakery she owns. She’s faced in the direction of my practice. I can’t help but think she had been coming to warn me. 

_Oh my dear Q’uijalah! You had nourished me when I was starving and looking for protection. You had helped me gain the trust of the townspeople as their new healer. A trust I had betrayed. You didn’t deserve this. None of the townspeople did._

Hot tears brim my eyes and sting the inside of my nares. I drop to my hands and knees with a suffocating breath trapped in my chest, and close her beautiful violet eyes. Eyes that would see no more. 

“Sleep in paradise, my dear friend,” I solemnly whisper through the tears trickling down my face. A rekindled hatred begins brewing deep within my gut for the Imperial bastards that had brought this death. But also a deep hatred and guilt that it’s ultimately my fault. 

_It is my fault._

“We need to go,” the Mandalorian gently rumbles, reaching to my shoulder. 

_\------------------_

_He doesn’t know why, but seeing me in pain tears relentlessly at his heartstrings._ He represses the feeling deep down, trying to blame it on the blood loss.

\------------------

We walk toward the first rising sun, heat starting to visibly rise from the terra. I try to compartmentalize my friend’s death and my own self-hatred, and switch to healer-mode. With the brighter lighting, I can more clearly see the Mandalorian’s injured shoulder and from the looks of it, at least a couple pints of his thick blood enrobing, like a macabre sash, the front of his shiny Beskar cuirass.

“I need to treat you,” I insist with urgency, reaching toward his injury.

“My ship is just over behind those boulders,” he stiffly gestures.

“Why are you helping me?” my eyes glance around the curves of his metal helmet, searching for an answer.

\------------------

_He feels his heart skip under my piercing gaze._

\------------------

“I don’t like Imps,” he wryly replies.

I search his tinted visor for more, but he offers no other words.

“My name is Halarys. Halarys Ristania,” I blurt. He deserves to know my name, and I can’t help but be honest. _There’s just something about him…_

“I know who you are,” he monotones.

My blood goes cold and I stop dead in my tracks. _How did he know?_

“I’m a bounty hunter,” he responds coldly to my unspoken question, devoid of all emotion in his modulated voice.

The instinct to run bubbles inside my gut and overflows into my chest. _I shouldn’t have been so naive as to think he was actually helping me out of the kindness of his heart._

“Are you going to turn me in?” I ask grimly, feeling a heavy dread and hopelessness seep deep into my flesh. _I can’t run from him - even in his injured state, I judge he can likely best me…or at the very least shoot me. I begin to accept my cruel fate, knowing he’ll receive a reward for my return to the remnant Empire._

A few beats pass as he stares into my eyes, the dark glass masking his intentions. I cannot read him.

“No,” he speaks smoothly, almost kindly.

“You’re not?” I’m shocked, certainly I hadn’t heard him right.

“No,” he repeats, “I will not turn you in.”

He continues walking ahead and I follow, relief pouring over me as the second sun crests over the craggy horizon. I know he’s sincere; I can feel it radiating from him. As I watch him walk, my eyes are drawn to some small sand lizards chasing one another a few meters ahead -a delightfully banal scene. _Q’uijalah and I used to feed them scraps from failed bread loaves,_ I reminisce. _But I don’t deserve to enjoy the memory - no, not with the death I had brought._ I snap myself from the thought, focusing my attention on the Beskar man.

“Thank you,” I soberly remark as I start again toward the boulders. I swear I can feel his gaze as I walk ahead of him. _I still don’t know why I’m trusting this stranger, but something is telling me I can. Something I cannot explain._

We turn the corner and there his ship sits as promised. A decent-sized, old craft, but in fair repair. The entrance’s pneumatics hiss as it lowers the ramp to the gravelly ground. 

I turn to the Mandalorian and he nods his permission to enter. 

I reach the steep ramp, feet feeling the transitional contrast of graveled ground to smooth metal. The cool air is inviting as I admire the utilitarian craftsmanship of years ago, eyes running along the exposed wires and pipes. 

Then, a small figure in a brown robe toddles toward me. Unmistakable green ears and cooing come into focus. It’s a child of the Force - he has to be The Child. _He had survived!_ A large grin breaks onto my face followed by a surge of guilt. 

I turn to the Mandalorian. “Where did you find the babe?” I rush.

“He was a bounty,” he monotones, shutting the ramp.

“But you are protecting him, are you not?” I smile as I pluck him off the ground, his large glassy eyes searching my face in wonder. The babe giggles as I scrunch my nose to make a funny face.

“They were going to hurt him,” he groans.

“You’re kind of a lousy bounty hunter, huh?” I tease the Mandalorian.

Suddenly, his footing becomes unstable and he collapses on his side, breathing labored.

I let the babe down and rush over to tend him. The Beskar man has lost a lot of blood.

“Hey, don’t take the joke so seriously,” I grab his helmet and reach to feel his pulse beneath the fabric covering his neck. “Hey, hey, stay with me!”

He viper-quick grasps my wrist again, but I notice his strength isn’t as vigorous as before.

“Helmet stays on,” he weakly mutters through gritted teeth. “This is The Way.”

“I’m just searching for your pulse. You lost a lot of blood and you’re likely suffering from hypovolemia.” Dark glass stares at me for a few beats. His grip eventually gives loose, permitting me to do my job.

I bail on checking his pulse in favor of grabbing my scanner, and hover it over the angry, macerated wounds in his left shoulder and upper chest where his Beskar armor doesn’t protect. The stab wound and lacs have mostly clotted at this point so source control isn’t a priority at this moment. His chest rises and falls in labored, hurried breaths. The image of his heart and lungs appear clear - no pneumo- or hemothorax visualized. However, his cardiac preload is diminished by 5% compared to my previous scannings. BP 80/50 mmHg, HR 130s-140s BPM and climbing. It seems hypovolemia is indeed the issue. 

He needs normal saline or Lactated Ringer’s (LR) for volume repletion. Most ships would carry this in a first aid kit and I bet for a bounty hunter this would be well-stocked. My eyes dart around for an obvious medical kit.

“Medical supplies are in the chest, near the ladder,” he points, reading my mind.

The green babe coos and stares in concern as I shift past him to the chest. I lift the lid and am greeted with a collection of useful medical supplies. _LR - check. Peripheral IV kit - double check. Antimicrobial solution - heck yes._

I gather the supplies to my breast and hurry back to the metallic man. The green babe’s ears and eyes focus on me with great concern, but also with pleading trust. 

“He’s going to be fine,” I faintly smile at the little green guy.

“Mandalorian, you’re not going to like this…but I need to remove your glove in order to find a vein. I need to provide fluids to improve your blood volume,” I reluctantly notify, fully expecting a harsh ‘no’. A few tense moments pass as his tinted visor peers at me.

“Fine…only a glove,” he almost growls. I’m in surprised relief. I know this is likely in conflict with his beliefs, but he seems to trust me.

I reach down and slowly curl my fingers beneath his glove. My eyes search his visor for a second affirmation. He nods once, permitting me to remove the garment.

Although he has callouses, his skin is smooth and much softer than I had expected given his occupation.

“I should start wearing gloves more often, my hands would be prettier,” I smile, making my awkward, lame joke to ease the tension.

“Your hands are beautiful,” he replies staring at my fingers, and then studying my face. I blush. 

\------------------

_He can’t control what he is saying - his filter is down as he feels a warm, dizzying euphoria._

_\------------------_

“Well, I think that blood loss is affecting your mentation now,” I say in an attempt to break the borderline affectionate attention. I need to get the fluids started ASAP. After I sanitize my hands, I surprisingly find a vein in the back of his hand without any need of a tourniquet and prep it with antimicrobial. I open the peripheral IV kit, steadying the needle atop the selected vein.

“You’re going to feel a pinch,” I announce, quickly inserting the needle and leaving the flexible cannula inside - I tape it secure. “There, not so bad, huh?” I smirk. He didn’t even flinch.

He looks curiously at me. Maybe even in astonishment.

“You’re easily impressed,” I gloat. _Yeah, he definitely needs fluids._

“Y-you’re the first non-Mandalorian to even see my skin in over a decade. L-let alone touch and pierce it with my permission,” he almost drunkenly confesses, gazing at me.

“Don’t get all soft on me know, Mandalorian.” I hook up the tubing to the LR liter bag and jerry-rig it to hang from the cargo net, above his head, then connect it to the IV and unclamp the tubing just enough to allow a steady drip. 

“Alright, fluids are going. Now, let’s take a look at that shoulder.” I shift with my scanner in hand, surveying the damage through the bloodied tears in the cloth. It looks like two 2-3 cm cuts to the left trapezius muscle and a stab wound straight through the trapezius and knicking the levator scapulae, seemingly the same spot I had stitched earlier - _fucking stormtrooper had great aim_. No orthopedic damage observed, thankfully and surprisingly (vibroblades are nasty weapons).

“You have great luck - all major vessels are intact,” I cheerfully share the brightside. 

“I wouldn’t call it luck,” he quips, making me half-smile.

“I need to tear the fabric to expose the wounds better,” I report, looking to his tinted visor for permission.

He nods.

I lift his cowl out of the way and tear open even wider the pre-existing holes in the saturated fabric of his undershirt. I grab the antimicrobial solution to prepare the wounds. His breath hitches and pulse throbs as I lavage the damaged tissue.

“Sorry,” I exhale. I mist bacta over the gashes, but again, they will still require stitches. I produce and sanitize the Beskar needle and biofiber, the sight of which has the Mandalorian tense.

The big-eared babe watches in wide-eyed wonderment as I start the first stitch in the stab wound and the Mandalorian grunts. He then toddles closer, outstretching his three-fingered hand up toward the injuries and closes his eyes. The Beskar man grabs the babe with his good arm and gently sets him further away. 

“It's ok. Go play over there,” the Mandalorian points to a small metal ball on the ground, his voice sounding fatherly.

“What was he doing?” I ask, hiding my knowledge.

“Other than getting in your way, not sure,” he dryly responds with the lie. 

\------------------

_He doesn’t want the kid to exhaust himself._

_\------------------_

He hisses as I hit a tender spot. 

The babe gives a concerned look and keeps staring at us. 

“He seems very worried about you,” I share my observation, reaching the end of the stab wound.

“He’s curious,” the Mandalorian breathes as I finish tying off the final stitch of the worst injury. Inquisitive and concerned large, dark eyes stare from the little one’s green face. I continue to approximate the other lacerations, and the bleeding is indeed under control.

\----------

The Mandalorian watches my delicate hands nimbly tend to their task with skill and ease. He feels his heart falter watching my focused eyes survey his injuries. _This blood loss is really getting to me_ , he thinks.

\----------

“All done!” I victoriously proclaim with a smile on my face, slightly admiring my handiwork.

The babe, now satisfied his father is ok, toddles off to play with his metal ball. I lift my scanner and am pleased to find the Mandalorian’s BP has already improved to 95/65 mmHg and HR to 102 BPM. _We are out of the dunes._

Then my scanner inadvertently picks up an image of his heart - which I'd seen earlier, but now note it's surprisingly not Beskar. I briefly muse at how vulnerable, how soft it looks inside such a tough suit of impenetrable armor. And judging by the minor coronary plaque buildup and valve health, he's likely mid- to late-30s...and _very_ fit. 

“Is everything ok?” the Beskar man asks, hand nearly reaching to mine with a hint of worry to his modulated voice. My trance breaks and I meet the dark glass of his helm. 

“Yes,” I say, slightly blushing. _Although, I’m not sure why…not professional_ , _Halarys_. I squirrel away the scanner into my bag.

“Hmmm,” he replies.

I avert my eyes and focus on his IV access - his pale nail beds have me concerned about perfusion.

"May I check your pulse?" I ask, gesturing to his hand, prepared for a curt 'no'.

He nods. 

_He's still being agreeable...perhaps he's more hypovolemic than I think._

My fingertips press into the inside of his exposed wrist, palpating the borderline-thready and rapid rhythm. 

———————

 _This is a new feeling…being vulnerable,_ he thinks, again swallowing hard around a nervous lump in his throat _._ He hasn’t let anyone _so_ close to him before.

 _But the warmth and pressure from her fingertips…it’s unbearably gentle_ , he thinks, but quickly chastises himself for the intrusive thought. _She’s a professional doing her job. And this blood loss is messing with my senses_ , he reasons to himself.

He literally just met this woman and, most importantly, he doesn’t have time for such things. 

_It must be the blood loss,_ he continues to rationalize until she finally takes her fingertips from his sensitive skin. 

_This is The Way,_ he recites in his head, trying to fight away the thought of my caring touch and kind eyes. He then turns his head, shifting his gaze toward his son playing with the ball - the kid is _his sole_ responsibility and duty; the child relies entirely on him.

He suddenly feels restless, even reckless, that we’ve stayed here for as long as we have.

_————————_

Confident he’s now more stable, I gather the leftover supplies in my arms and stand up. 

“We need to leave,” he monotones, back in warrior-mode. “We’re not safe here.” The Beskar man slowly stands and stumbles a bit. I drop the supplies to help steady him on his uninjured side.

“Woah, let’s take it easy. You’re still not one-hundred percent,” I reprimand. His arm loops around my shoulder - I estimate he has about a third of a meter in height and 35 kg in combined body and armor weight on me.

“I’m fine,” he curtly insists, briefly steadying himself before letting go. He grabs the LR bag from the net and heads toward the ladder to what I assume is the cockpit. 

I shake my head. _Stubborn metalhead._ I quickly pick up the scattered supplies and place them in the chest.

“Can you grab him?” the Mandalorian orders more than asks, nodding at the kid, before he starts up the ladder. I turn to the wide-eyed little green babe and lift him in my arms, earning a loud welcoming coo. 

_Oh my gosh, you are so damn adorable. Your stubborn Beskar father isn’t too bad either_ , I think in my head, briefly feeling a blush spread to my cheeks again.

I follow up behind the Mandalorian, making sure he doesn’t fall and follow through the doors whuch reveal the cockpit.

He heavily seats himself in the pilot seat, lifting to hang the three-quarters empty LR bag above him. I shift the babe to one arm, reaching to help hang the IV fluids from above and brushing his gloved hand in the process. 

\-------------------

But the barrier does nothing to lessen the feel of my touch and his heart sputters again. He hesitates for a couple beats, then allows me to take over. 

_I cannot resist her_ , the Mandalorian thinks to himself, feeling a strange pull in his chest toward me. He quickly brushes away the thought, preoccupying himself with our next destination. 

\-------------------

He moves with skilled hands, switching all the necessary levers and buttons ( _which all look the same to me_ ) in the correct sequence. The ship’s engines roar to life, dust billowing beneath as we slowly ascend. 

The third sun has now crested the rocky horizon and the heat of the day is about to begin. I realize this is likely the last time I will see these suns on Fara. But maybe this is for the best. 

_Bye Q’uijalah_ , I whisper in my head, my eyes again stinging with the pain of her loss.

I take a seat next to my silvery Mandalorian patient, with the small, green child of the Force in my lap, and watch as we ascend to the blue skies. I wonder where we are going, but I’d be a fool to think it won’t be the adventure of a lifetime.

\------------

_This is an ongoing series. Infinite chapters planned at this time._


	2. The Heart of A Mandalorian Warrior - Episode II: The Child's Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The adventure continues as the healer, the child, and the Mandalorian try to outrun the Imperialists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the very quick/rushed character-character bonding (This story was originally intended to be only Episode I and then evolved into a trilogy...but then it morphed into an ongoing series). I apologize if the character development seems off. It slows down after the first 3 episodes!

My stomach swings and drops from the quickening acceleration of the ship. The green babe giggles as we ascend, breaking through wispy white clouds as the rich jewel blue sky hollows and fades into the dark chasm of space.

My soul suddenly mirrors the cold, dark emptiness in front of me as I think again of Q’uijalah. Her kindness had betrayed her. 

_I had betrayed her._

The Mandalorian switches at some more controls, preparing for what I imagine to be hyperspace.

“You can call me Din,” he smoothly speaks, breaking the silence. Warmth floods back into my heart.

“Din,” I muse as the simple syllable passes my lips. It is an intimate, trusting gesture to share his name. And it tempts me to ask the many questions brimming at the back of my mind: _Where were we going? Where was he from? How did he find me? Why was he protecting the green babe? Did he know what I knew - my past? Did he know the capability of the child?_ But I don’t dare pluck at the fragile seedling of his newfound trust.

The babe’s ears adjust to my face, large glistening eyes studying my face as though he recognizes me or can sense my thoughts. If he truly knew me, I don’t know if he would allow me to hold him as so.

Suddenly the ship jolts as metallic blows spatter on its hull, almost jolting me from my seat. I hold the babe closer, shielding him from whatever had just happened. 

Two small Imperial TIE fighters materialize from hyperspace, firing at our ship.

“You got the kid?” he hurries in a fatherly voice.

“Yes!” I reassure and grip the child more tightly. “It’s going to be ok.” I smile to the babe. His ears twitch and eyes dart around as the ship shudders under another volley of green plasma fire.

Din grumbles as he hastily rips the IV from the back of his hand to make movement more practical. Only around one-sixth of the liter LR bag remains. He had likely received a decently therapeutic volume, I assess.

“Imps,” he growls.

The ship shakes and stray sparks fly about the cockpit as the two ships continue making passes of volleying fire. _Hopefully those sparks aren’t from anything too vital_ , I think. I hold the babe tighter, my gut writhing and adrenaline coursing. I’m completely out of my element.

Din flips some more switches and pulls a few levers with well-practiced ease. He takes a joystick in his good hand, shifting the ship to attempt aim and takes fire at the targets. But the ships don’t seem the least bit phased. They swoop and swerve, gracefully dodging our return fire. 

“We can’t fight. We have to lose them,” he determines with a grimace.

\-----------------

_Pain is aching and throbbing at his injured shoulder - he doesn’t have the agility right now for a dogfight._

\-----------------

The ship shudders and sparks shower in spurts as it begins its acceleration. He pushes the throttle as far as it can go. 

“Brace yourself and the kid,” Din breathes.

The starry sky stretches streaks of white and I am pressed heavy against my seat as we take off. The babe giggles.

White streaks fly by at such speed. He seems to be pushing the ship as fast as it can go. Sparks spatter around us, smelling of hot, burning metal, and the ship loudly rattles in protest.

 _Fucking troopers_ , I curse in my head.

“Do you think they’re following us?” Anxiety courses through my chest and a dull throb nudges at my skull. 

“Not sure,” he loudly rasps, keeping tight hold of the controls.

“Where are we headed?” A few moments later, my question is answered as we promptly drop from hyperspace. A vaguely familiar and lively green planet appears into view. 

It beckons safety. 

Sparks intermittently shoot around the cabin and the annoying chirp of a warning signal sounds. The faithful, old ship is damaged.

We descend through the atmosphere, down through cream-colored, swirling clouds. The babe coos in my arms and shifts to better see this new world bloom into view.

I glance at the Mandalorian, his gaze intently strategizing and determined to find a satisfying area to land. 

In our descent, we draw near to gargantuan, ancient trees, dripping with green life. Magnificent flying creatures of vivid colors dart around, playfully attempting to match the ship’s speed. Such life is a welcomed sight. 

_Not a bad place to land_ , I muse. My eyes are drawn to a pair of creatures that wear a very familiar violet color.

I am then sobered by the guilt, the sickening weight on my soul of her death. My gut sinks to the pit of me, again recalling Q’uijalah. I think back to our first encounter.

~*~*~*~Flashback to about 2 months prior~*~*~*~

It was my second day on her planet from what I could tell. She found me weak and near-death, attempting in vain to find shelter from the broiling heat of the three suns. I was sheltering behind a lonely group of boulders. She had been wandering about, feeding the sand lizards morsels when she discovered me:

I could feel my will to live dwindling as the suns greedily taxed hydration from my body. Sand and gravel stuck to what exposed skin I had. Then a welcomed shadow cast over me.

I looked up and she smiled as she knelt and gently steadied me from the ground. “Come,” large violet eyes kindly asserted. My legs felt like gravity was thrice the usual force. My eyes were blinded from the scorching heat. I slowly descended into a dreamlike state.

I do not recall anything until I awoke to the smell of warm bread and a cool cup of water brought to my parched mouth. 

I greedily gulped at it, coughing. Some dysphagia from my weakened state gripped at my throat.

“Careful.” She said, her striking violet eyes shone in concern.

“Thank you.” I croaked, trying to clear my throat. I briefly recalled my exhausting 5-day’s journey on a freight ship as a stowaway from the Imperials. I had been starving and dehydrated.

“My name is Q’uijalah,” she warmly smiled, snapping me from the thought. “You are safe here,” she reassured, bringing warm pieces of bread to my mouth. I had never savored a bite so rich, yet light and nourishing.

“I see you are a healer,” she pointed to my medic bag as I greedily ate.

“Yes,” I acknowledged, my attention focused on eating.

“Our village could use someone like you,” she smiled.

“I think I could use someone like me right now,” I joked, devouring another bite of bread. “Thank you, Q’uijalah.” My eyes met hers. She was a beautiful soul.

She gently nursed me back to health over the next couple days. 

Staying to return the favor to her village was the least I could do. _Some favor that was._

On my 7th day on her planet, and back to my full strength, she invited me to participate in her traditions. 

I can recall the smell of warm bread and akanalah beans roasting in her bakery, the cheerful sound of bassy drums and shrill flute, laughter and chatter of the townsfolk:

“Come join me!” Q’uijalah exclaimed, grabbing my hand and encouraging me to dance. 

I resisted at first, shying away from the festivity. I had all the rhythm of a dead rock. But Q’uijalah had a way about her. She grabbed my hands and got us both laughing. I mimicked her motions, hip to knee and playful stepping. 

My inhibitions wore down like the tide washing on a sandy beach to reveal a new, smooth surface. We giggled like young girls, breathless from dance and pleasure of good company and food. 

For the very brief time I knew her, Q’uijalah made my heart feel young, she helped me heal after my time in forced Imperial servitude, and she made me feel accepted - she made everyone feel accepted. 

And I loved her for that. She was truly my best friend. I will forever remember her beautifully kind, violet eyes.

Tears burn in my eyes at her memory. 

\-----------------

My reminiscing is broken at the sudden loss in altitude and deceleration. The emerald under-fauna comes into view as the trees tower above the ship.

“We need to land,” he plainly remarks.

“Do you think they followed us?” I ask again, holding the big-eared babe closer as if the gesture would ensure our safety.

“We’ll find out,” he breathes.

A clearing comes into view, near an idyllic waterfall-fed pond. Plentiful fauna of various rich shades of green encircle the opening, an enchanting frame to the rippling clear waters.

“I didn’t know we were going on holiday,” I lamely quip. The babe’s ears and eyes focus on the new sights. He lowly coos.

“One of the stabilizers is damaged. It might be a rough landing,” he warns. The chirping alarm seems to grow louder.

The ship hovers and clumsily wobbles and I hold the babe to my breast. Some more sparks spatter behind us, and at that, the ship lands with a heavy, jolting thud on the soft forest floor. The Mandalorian switches a half-dozen controls and the chirping alarm and low roar of the engines decrescendos as the bountiful, lively sounds of the forest amplify.

“You and the kid, ok?” Din asks with demanding concern, dark helm fixed on me and the babe.

“I think we could both use a neck massage, but otherwise fine,” I smile, looking down at the babe who seems to giggle at my comment. 

Unamused and not wasting time, the metal warrior brushes past me. He begins skillfully assessing the areas throwing sparks earlier. 

“It’s nothing critical,” he reports.

“Well that’s good, right?” I respond, setting the babe down to toddle.

“I still need to inspect the outside of the ship. I know at least one of the stabilizer jets is damaged,” Din breathes as he makes his way down the ladder. I notice his breath hitches as he uses his damaged shoulder.

“You should really take it easy on that shoulder,” I doctorly scold, following him down the steps.

As I reach the bottom, he suddenly turns to me, but brushes past. He peers up to the cockpit. Green, curious ears and wide-eyes meet his gaze.

“You stay there,” Din orders the babe. Din crawls up a few rungs and gently hands the child his metal ball. “Here,” he softly speaks. I can’t help but feel a velvet happiness witnessing the seasoned warrior commit such a tender act.

Din then clunks back down, shifting past me as the pneumatic doors hiss open. Warm, humid air - thick with the mixed scent of damp terra and alien flora and the humming chorus of insects and strange aerial creatures - rolls in to claim every cavern of the ship’s belly. I place my medic bag in the small room for safe-keeping.

He descends the ramp and turns the corner, his dark glass glinting in the filtered forest sunlight. I follow briskly behind. 

“Looks like the stabilizer and an area of hull took heavy fire,” he reports, annoyed. 

I look at a charred area of metal about twice the size of my torso. “It doesn’t look so bad,” I novicely reassure. _I knew absolutely nothing about ships other than they flew you places._

“This will take at least a day to repair,” the Mandalorian huffs, moving past me, back to the belly of the ship.

“We should really eat something,” I encourage. “The babe is hungry and you need nourishment as well to heal.” My stomach groans - I’m starving.

Ignoring me, Din rummages through supplies, grabs some metallic, sleek, and oblong tools and a worn step-ladder, then determinedly passes me to begin repair on the ship. The pneumatic door moans and hisses as it closes.

“OK,” I huff back, stomach growling. I know he had to be hungry too. 

I have some knowledge of botany and various species from my previous “studies”. I sourly think back to my time in the Empire’s command.

~*~*~*~Flashback to 15 months ago~*~*~*~

“Hey scientist!” An angry, desperate voice shot at me, echoing through the various and numerous glass jars of hermetically-sealed fauna and herbs from countless planets.

“We need you to save it,” he roughly demanded, carrying a petite form, great soft green ears overflowing his arms. He set her down on the exam table. 

I jumped up from my bioscope and quickly began to work. I had heard rumors of her kind - the species had something to do with “the Force” research. 

Her breath was shallowing. She had lost a lot of light green fluid, of what I assumed to be her blood. 

I was unfamiliar with her anatomy. Dammit.

Her breathing continued to fade away. My internal scanner was useless given her species was not yet cataloged and no vital parameters with which to compare. 

I was failing her.

“I need to move her to the Bacta bath!” I ordered in a last-ditch effort, knowing well it was likely a moot point. 

I gently gathered up her petite form. She was so thin, perhaps even starved.

Her small hand gripped my arm.

Of what happened next, I cannot fully explain. 

An intense energy flowed deep within me, stirring my soul. I felt an intense dark fear, like impending death. It then faded into the strong desire, the absolute need to protect and nurture someone, someone like a child. Yes - a maternal instinct. I then began to see strange symbols in my mind’s eye. They repeated in flashes. 

I stumbled and her hand’s grip broke from me. 

“What are you doing?!” The trooper yelled. 

I pretended my best like nothing happened and placed her in the bath. I stared in shock and wonder. This had to be the Force, I thought, thoroughly humbled. 

Minutes passed as I studied her form, but it was too late. She had slipped into death’s grasp. 

“You are useless!” Rage rumbled through the trooper’s modulator. He grabbed her from the bath and crudely laid her on my exam table. 

“She wouldn’t be dead if you hadn’t shot her!” I scolded. 

My tongue earned a brisk slap across the face from his armored hand. My lip stung and leaked metallic blood onto the tip of my tongue. Fluorescent light glared into my eyes. 

_Fucker._

“What kind of healer are you?” He insulted. “You know what to do next.” He taunted, exiting and sealing me in my workroom.

_Mega fucker._

My defeated eyes dropped to the now lifeless body before me on the examination table. Wrinkled, soft spring green skin, large pointed ears, glossy dark eyes stared lifeless. She had been fatally wounded from a couple blaster shots to her right side in her attempt to escape. She appeared emaciated. These Empire fucks knew no bounds.

And now they wanted an autopsy, a detailed description of her anatomy, and whatever I could ascertain of her physiology. 

_Why couldn’t these bastards just use scanners?_ Mine had been confiscated when they captured me.

It was a cruel punishment to me and depersonalization to the body.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I would later find that her child had been more fortunate. Word had spread like wildfire that the babe had been smuggled out. The Imperial goons were scurrying around like ants under a magnifying glass to find the child under the head commander’s order. 

It was rumored amongst the other captive scientists and healers that the mother and babe had been discovered through the blackmarket on Coruscant about 4 years ago. The Imperialists had quickly purchased them for study, perhaps in a desperate attempt to ensure their victory against the Rebellion.

\-----------------

BZZZZZZZZZPPPPPPP. The loud buzzing sparks of the Mandalorian’s tools on the ship jumps me from my thoughts. 

Then my stomach reminds me of its need with loud growling and demanding pangs. I turn to explore the edge of the clearing, where some of the plants appear familiar. I start closer and then recognize the unmistakable green and yellow striped leaves of a proteinous root vegetable, kassan root. It’s a fairly ubiquitous species. My knees fall onto the cushion of mossy terra. I grab a shard of loose tree bark and shovel away at the base of the plant. A large, meaty maroon bulb emerges - it will make the base of a nice soup. I yank it from the ground, brushing off the moist, excess terra.

With prize in hand, I stroll over to the rippling crystal waters and bend to wash it. 

_What a beautiful planet_ , I muse to myself, enjoying the chirping sounds of the stark yellow aerial creatures darting above in the towering treetops.

Before I can react, the gaping mouth of a vibrantly maroon amphibious creature materializes from the water, and in a violent splash, I am pulled in hand-first. It drags me under, pulling me deep. The water envelops me like a muted cloak, dulling my senses. 

Disoriented, I kick and punch to free myself. My blows are softened by the water as the creature continues to pull me deeper. I desperately punch at its jaw, trying to break my other hand free. But its grip is unrelenting. I thrash my legs, attempting to jar myself loose, but to no avail.

It pulls me deeper.

My lungs are panicking for air. I am running out of breath. 

Then a large figure approaches from above and joins my struggle. It strikes at the creature’s head, forcing its mouth open. 

My hand slips free. 

I retreat and quickly ascend to the breach the water’s surface. My lungs raggedly devour the air. The Mandalorian crests the water moments later and grabs me by the waist, swimming me toward shore.

Gravity feels heavy as I emerge from the water, my lungs still screaming and choking for air. 

“What were you doing?!” the Mandalorian angrily demands, chest heaving.

“Procuring dinner!” I gasp, water still trickling down my face and through my now-loose hair. 

“You almost _were_ dinner,” he growls.

 _Din, you made a joke._ I start laughing, delirious and soaking wet from the near-drowning, with thick clear mucus from the beast still on my hand. I try to shake it off on the ground. Thankfully the creature hadn’t possessed sharp teeth.

“You know we have rations and a food synthesizer on the ship,” Din remarks, slightly amused by my fit of laughter.

_OK, so I really don’t know much about ships…I haven’t travelled much._

With breath more satisfied, I look up toward Din and notice his body armor is off, save for his _form-fitting_ , black fabric undersuit and that iconic helm.

I quickly avert my gaze, blushing. _He had taken his armor off to save me._ The gesture sinks deep and humbles me.

“Din -,” I start.

\-----------------

_His heart skips, realizing she's shy and unsure about his current state of undress._

\-----------------

“It’s ok,” he reassures, voice quiet. “My helm remains and face unseen…this is The Way.”

I refuse to look - it seems impolite. _But damn he is physically fit._

_\-----------------_

_He watches her as she pulls herself off the mossy ground, wet clothing exposing every curve, her long hair casading down to the small of her back._

_His pulse doubles as he feels his heart falter at her sight. He’s ashamed of his fondness, this strange pull to her he cannot explain or really describe. He continues to blame the recent blood loss on his lack of mental filter._

It must be the blood loss _, he tells himself over and over. He forces his gaze to focus on the area of ship he’d nearly repaired before my interruption, attempting to calculate the amount of additional labor to finish the job. He bends over to reattach his Beskar metal._

\-----------------

Breath still heavy, I stumble over to the waterfall to rinse my mucousy hands, keeping a keen eye on the pool for any other giant death-monsters.

“I hope you enjoy your kassan root!” I sarcastically cough at the water. 

I then notice the sun is starting to set. The forest’s creatures crescendo even louder than before.

I turn to find the Mandalorian has already replaced his armor. I gently plod over to join him. He looks in my direction and then quickly averts his gaze, focusing instead on the opening of the ship’s ramp. 

I glance down and realize I am pretty exposed myself. I cover what I can with my arms.

“Don’t suppose you have a spare cloak in my size?” I ask, trying my best to be modest despite the skin-tight, transparent clothing. It’s obvious he’s shy, reserved, and a gentleman. I gently close the distance between us.

“I think I might,” he answers politely, voice slightly faltering.

\-----------------

 _He swallows nervously, heart skipping twice in a row._ This woman _…he thinks briefly and then shakes away the soft feelings._

\-----------------

“We should board the ship before nightfall,” he returns to his stoic tone.

On cue something very-large-sounding rustles in the fauna. It is more than enough incentive to quicken my pace and board the ship.

There the green babe greets us with big eyes and cooing. 

“Hey kid,” Din affectionately murmurs.

“How did he get down here?” I ask, legitimately curious. We had left him on the upper level. He looks unharmed as I pluck him up and examine his head for signs of a fall. He giggles as I lift him up and down.

“Not sure,” the damp, Beskar man remarks, digging around in a hidden compartment. He pulls out a soft, brown cloak that looks to be made of the same material as the babe’s.

“Here, you can use this,” Din reaches his hand out, not looking at me. 

“Thank you,” I remark, gently taking the cloak. “Now you won’t be able to tell us apart,” I joke, referring to the green babe.

“You can get changed in there,” he points at a small, unassuming door. “I’ll prepare a meal.”

While Din works on preparing food in the synthesizer for us, I stumble around the small room, barely big enough for it's small cot, trying to strip my still-damp tunic and pants. I lose my balance trying to pull my pant-leg off and crash onto what I assume is his bed, knocking over some boxed supplies crammed in the corner and making a raucous. 

“Owww,” I moan to myself.

“Are you ok in there?” Din’s voice is laden with concern, but mostly curiosity. 

“Yeah,” I huff. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just got bested by my pants,” I laugh.

\-----------------

 _Din blushes, briefly thinking of her state of undress._ Blood loss, _he repeats in his head, but his heart tells him different._

\-----------------

“Dinner will be done soon,” he shares, sounding almost proud.

I smile to myself and pull over the warm, soft cloak, enveloping me like a gentle hug. I quickly hang my clothing to dry from some exposed pipes.

As I emerge from the room, my senses are filled with the savory delight of his creation.

“It feels good to have gotten a bath and new clothes,” I smile, arms held out, showing off my new style.

Din chuckles a couple times. 

_What?_ I think with a surprised smile, eyebrows raising. “Did I just hear a laugh from you, Mandalorian?” I prod, touching his shoulder to taunt.

\-----------------

_His heart skips._

_\-----------------_

“Here,” he gently lifts a plate to me, complete with eating sticks. It’s a lack-luster brown mass that looks like already fully-digested food, but it smells amazing and I’m starving.

“Thanks,” I smile and nod, seating myself next to Din. “It smells amazing,” I compliment, not commenting on the presentation.

I look over to my fashion-twin as Din sets a small plate in front of him. The green babe is wide-eyed. He then proceeds to shove his face directly into the brown pile - with ears bouncing, he makes quick work of the matter. Lifting his face, smeared with brown paste, he lets out a small burp. 

_Oh my gods!_

I burst out laughing. “Hey, I already look like him; maybe I should eat like him too,” I snort.

“Then you would need another bath,” the Mandalorian teases and chuckles as he sticks a straw in his portion. I break into laughter between bites.

We both quickly finish our meals laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

\-----------------

 _Din cannot think of the last time he’d laughed so much._ _His face is even a little sore._

_\-----------------_

The ship falls silent, save for the echoes of nocturnal creatures outside, and I look into the dark glass of his helm. I can’t help but notice his respirations per minute (RPM) is around 20 - a bit high. I reach to check on his injured shoulder, thinking of gods know what kinds of microbes are teeming in that water. 

“May I?” I gently ask, stopping myself short of his chest. He falls still, studying my movement. He permits with a small nod.

I gently lift away the tattered fabric to obtain a full view of the wounds. Amazingly, the skin appears almost completely healed and biofiber stitches nearly dissolved. _Bacta is some nice stuff._ I run my fingertips over the newly healed skin. No redness or tenderness. Infection doesn’t appear to be the cause of his rapid breath.

“How do you feel?” I tenderly ask.

“Fine,” he smoothly replies, dark glass studying my face. I can now feel his strong pulse quicken from underneath my fingers still resting on his exposed skin. The room remains quiet and I swear I can almost hear the rapid thudding, even beneath his armor.

I sense his gaze studying my features. 

The babe comes out of nowhere and reaches up at us, with goopy face and hands.

“Hey kid,” the Mandalorian scoops the babe up and sets him in my lap.

\-----------------

 _He’s ever thankful for the interruption and his heart slowly decelerates._ He’s starting to think it’s not just the blood loss.

_\-----------------_

“You are a mess!” I proclaim, the little guy giggling as I poke at his dirty little nose.

Din collects the plates and utensils in a clatter, and I wipe the goop from the child’s face with a cloth.

I then set the contented babe in his pod for the night, his eyes fluttering shut. 

_What did you do all day in here to tire yourself out?_ I think as I kiss the green head goodnight. 

Din leans over and whispers softly, “night kid.”

The Mandalorian sets to his new task of repairing the loose wiring that had sparked in the cockpit earlier. I head up behind him on the ladder and take a seat on the chair, swiveling to watch him work. His hands seek out the damage quickly.

He looks in my direction briefly. “Why is the Empire after you?” he plainly asks.

I feel nerves begin to bubble in my gut. _I guess he was bound to ask at some point,_ I think.

“I’m an escaped prisoner,” I reply bluntly, fidgeting with my hands. 

“They had a pretty high bounty on your head for just some prisoner,” he replies, monotonically. The way he says it prods for further detail.

I think for a few moments as he continues repairing the wires. Shame burns a pale pink on my face.

“I was a scientist. They forced me to do research on certain species,” I soberly recall.

The Mandalorian looks at my direction. He doesn’t seem surprised, but instead attuned to what I have to say.

“I think I’m the reason the kid doesn’t have a mother,” I blurt. I wait for the recoil.

He falls still, just staring at the wires.

I peer at his helm, waiting for a bigger reaction. When none comes, I continue my explanation. 

“The Empire collected and kept various species as part of their special intelligence division. I gave them as little information as kept me alive,” I profess. “Most of my work involved fauna and herbs to use as medicines or toxins, but occasionally, they would bring me an injured or dead being. I tried to save her, but…I couldn’t…I tried, but she was fatally wounded,” tears sting my eyes at the confession.

The Mandalorian gazes at me, silent.

My head falls down, heavy with guilt of ever having helped the Imperial cause. _I should have taken the firing squad._

“It’s not your fault,” Din reassures, walking over and crouching down to my seated level. 

I shake my head in disagreement. _It was my fault - if only I had been a_ ** _better_** _healer._

“That’s why I came for you,” he explains. “The bounty mentioned a potential tie to the kid. I need you to help me find his home.” 

“Din,” I hesitate. “I do not know where the kid came from. It was rumored he was found on Coruscant at a black market,” I tell him all I knew about the babe’s origins.

The Mandalorian slowly stands up, seemingly disappointed in his realization that maybe I am not the lead he was entirely looking for.

“I’m sorry, Din,” I apologize, head hung in my hands, feeling useless and pathetic. _He doesn’t really have a use for me now,_ I think.

Then the ship jolts and shakes. The unmistakable high buzz of a TIE fighter whirs at high speed past the ship and volleys fire, striking up clods of terra and incinerating patches of fauna to smoldering soot.

The Mandalorian jumps up, moving at high speed. The engines roar as we shakily ascend into the forest air with intensifying acceleration as the fighter returns. Our ship jerks as it takes another sweep of fire.

The ship shudders as it continues its ascent, clumsily brushing past tree branches. We accelerate breaking through clouds and into the absolute darkness of space. 

Warning alarms chime, different ones than before. They sound more ominous. I fear something vital has been damaged.

The ship quakes under another round of enemy fire and I loose my balance crashing into the side of the ship. 

_Fucking stormtroopers._

White streaks of starlight stretch across the sky as we enter hyperspace. I fall backward, disoriented by the sudden speed and shrill alarms. The ship groans in protest, its acceleration shaky and dangerous.

I watch as the Mandalorian keeps tight grip of controls. 

Suddenly the ship jumps.

All goes dark. We violently lurch to a standstill. 

The Mandalorian flips at switches, running a diagnostic.

“The power core surged from the attack. It’s critically depleted,” he soberly reports. His dark glass peers a few moments and then his head falls. “Life support will last about 25 minutes,” his voice is hushed, defeated.

The harsh realization sinks its cold wiry grip into my heart. _This is how it ends_ , I think.

The Mandalorian turns to me. “Are you ok?” he asks tenderly.

I lift myself up with a groan, right side, arm and neck aching from catching my fall in the whiplash. “I’d take that neck massage now,” I flatly joke.

“The kid,” he worriedly rushes past me, swiftly down the ladder.

I follow quickly behind.

He taps the control on his arm, opening the pod.

Green eyes and ears meet our gaze. I snatch him up and inspect him for signs of injury. Besides being a little disoriented, he seems unscathed.

The red backup lights gently strobe throughout the ship. Our time is running out. The ship grows colder and I can see my breath - the temperature settings seem to be failing. 

I look at the Mandalorian for reassurance, dark glass glinting with the dying pulse of the ship. His once determined gaze grows weary, defeated. 

We both know the end is drawing near. Our options are to either slowly suffocate or drift into a cold, eternal sleep. Drifting seems the better option.

I hold the babe close to keep him warm, he coos and peers at me with concerned, glossy eyes. My face starts to chill.

The Mandalorian draws close.

“Sorry kid,” his voice falters, dark glass seemingly welling with tears. It breaks my soul.

Shivering with biting frost on my face, I huddle the babe closer in my robe. I sit down, propping myself against the hard, cold metal of the ship’s wall. 

_I am so cold._

“Here,” the Mandalorian weakly speaks, sitting next to us. With a few snicking sounds, he removes his metal chestplate, exposing the soft, warm undershirt. He gestures me to huddle in. I don’t protest as he wraps his cloak around us and I rest against him with child in my arms.

I soak up the heat he omits, feeling his firm chest rise and fall with slow, steady breath. I rest my head just below his previously-injured left shoulder - the child and I in his protective embrace. I somehow feel safe, even now in the face of certain death.

The child looks up at us, concerned. 

With eyes fluttering, I watch the dreamlike slow red pulse of light, almost in sync to the Mandalorian’s steady heartbeat, that is now itself weakening and slowing.

Life support systems are failing. I blissfully begin to drift into eternal sleep.

The babe’s small hand then grabs my arm. 

Energy flows bewteen me and the child. The emotions of fear and death and then protection floods my senses just as I experienced over a year ago. The symbols show again in my mind’s eye. 

_The Force,_ I think.

The babe seems entranced and sharing in my visions. The energy quickly slows. 

The kid, seemingly in a trance, leaves my weak embrace. He toddles a couple feet away and begins drawing strange figures in the frost on the dusty floor with his small fingers. I recognize that these were the same strange symbols his mother had shown me. 

The Mandalorian and I watch through fading vision. Sleep is about to take us again.

Suddenly, we are startled by a loud hollow thud emanating from the under the ship, followed by the noisy hissing and metallic clunk of a hatch opening. Fluorescent light glares into the ship.

The air warms significantly and O2 levels improve. 

_Is someone here to rescue us?_ I begin to feel my senses sharpen again.

.

.

.

The infamously unmistakable figures of three stormtroopers appear from the glare.

 _Fuck,_ I think.

“Get up!” one orders, voice low and heavy from his modulator. He rudely prods with a long blaster weapon at the Mandalorian and I as we recover on the floor. 

That’s a mistake.

In a blink, the Mandalorian grabs the weapon, strongly hurling the goon down and knocking him unconscious. Din jumps up quickly, swinging the long weapon with incredible speed and knocks the second goon in the head, and then behind the knees, sending him falling to the ground in a limp heap. 

I shuffle away from the fight and grab the babe, who’s still entranced, drawing repetitious symbols on the floor with his hands.

The last trooper draws his weapon. A single red shot is fired.

.

.

.

It hits Din directly in his chest.

_He doesn’t have his armor on._

_._

_._

_._

Din collapses, chest heaving and breath ragged.

“Noooo!!” I cry out in utter anguish, shaking with rage, fear and panic. My instinct to help kicks in, but is interrupted as the Imp aims at me next.

Suddenly the trooper is suspended in mid-air.

_Am I hallucinating?!_

I look down and the babe has outstretched his hand. He swipes his arm briskly to the side and the trooper crashes into the ship’s wall with sickening force. The trooper is likely dead.

I set the babe down, panic coursing through me and battering within my chest like a dam about to break. I rush to Din’s side. 

“Din,” I speak softly as I look in his dark glass. Blood soaks his black undershirt - I can smell the thick, metallic scent. The shot had penetrated around the fourth to fifth intercostal space at a little short of the midclavicular line. I reach to his clothed neck and find a thready, irregular pulse.

“I’m fine…,” he lies, knowing all too well he’s mortally wounded. His dark glass gazes tenderly at me. “Take care…of the kid,” his modulated voice directs with finality.

I shake my head, tears welling and blurring my vision. “No you cannot die,” my voice shakes as I make my demand.

“Please,” he pleads, voicing a dying man’s wish.

“Don’t you give up on me, Mandalorian,” I beg with burning tears in my eyes.

"It's Din...remember?" his voice manages an air of humor, making me huff a pathetic laugh.

"Din," I nod, tears in my ears. I let go of him to search for my medic bag. Stumbling over the incapacitated troopers, I rush to find it in the small room. 

I hurry back to Din’s side. He’s still breathing, albeit increasingly rough and raspy.

“Hang in there,” I order as I hover the scanner over his chest wound. 

My worst fears are confirmed. His left ventricle has been nicked, and his pericardium and left lung’s upper lobe had been hotly pierced by the plasma shot. Bacta mist won’t help this. And I have nothing to perform open cardiothoracic surgery. It’s a fatal wound - he will bleed out and there is _nothing_ I can do. Nothing except make him comfortable.

“How…bad….is it?” Din raspily breathes between words. His left lung’s upper lobe is partially collapsed.

“Your heart and lung are damaged badly,” I shamefully admit, my head drops.

“Hey…,” Din lifts my chin with his gloved hand, using what little strength he has left. “Look….at me,” he draws a painful, ragged breath. “Sometimes…there is….nothing…you can do…and that…is ok,” he struggles to breath between. His dark glass gleams into my eyes, gazing in reassurance. 

I force a smile, tears streaming down my face. 

“Ni kar'tayl...gar darasuum,” he murmurs; his heart enters ventricular fibrillation on my scanner. 

“Din,” I gently say through hot tears brimming in my eyes. I can't help but feel the weight of the unfamiliar words just spoken, feeling an indescribable connection to the man I’d just met. My heart and soul aches as I watch his vitals falter and fade. He becomes limp and his painfully raspy breathing ceases.

I lean my head to his helm and place a hand over his mortally wounded heart, feeling the faint thump of its final weakened beat. 

The final beat of the Mandalorian’s kind heart.

Hot tears involuntarily stream down my face, fogging my vision. I press my forehead tighter against his cool helm, willing him from the pit of my soul to come back to me, to come back to his kid. _Din, please come back. Please._ I sob, tempted to start compressions, knowing full well it would do absolutely nothing.

 _This cannot be happening._ I feel like I’m drowning. _I need you, Din. Please. Please!_ My grip on him tightens.

His body’s limp weight remains in my arms as I cry into his chest, but he’s still warm. _He’s warm._ He cannot be gone.

“Din, please,” I plead to the gods and the heavens, drowning in anguish. _Come back._ I place a hand over his wound as if covering it will make it disappear altogether. _Come back_ , my soul desperately reaches for his.

.

.

.

The green babe then appears at my side. 

He raises his small hand over mine. 

.

.

.

What happens next, I cannot explain.

I feel the intense energy course through my hand and into Din. I can feel tissue swell and pulsate. I can then feel his heart slowly begin to beat. His apical pulse strengthens. I dare not move my hand. His breathing returns, and is slow and steady…and clear. 

“Din?” I caress his head and nudge a little. “Din?”

“Halarys…kid?” Din murmurs. My tears turn to those of joy. 

_He is alive._

The babe then collapses. 

“Kid,” Din reaches to his son.

I shift to check on the little one. He’s still breathing and appears his usual green glow. From what I can tell, the Force, or whatever it is, had taken a lot of energy from him.

“Place him in the pod,” Din suggests, as though this has happened before. 

I obey, gently setting the sweet child in his comfy pram. 

“Thank you,” I whisper to the little one as I place a tender kiss on his forehead. _He had saved us._

I turn to check on my Mandalorian patient. He starts to stand up, but orthostatic hypotension takes over and sits him back down. I hover my scanner over his chest. 

What I see both shocks and amazes me: His heart beats strong and forcefully, save a PVC or two - _no_ trace of ever being damaged - and his lung’s upper left lobe is intact and expanding and contracting normally. His cardiopulmonary functions are completely normal and healthy. 

Din slowly stands up. I match his movement, making sure he is steady. His dark glass seems to peer into my soul. He softly reaches for my hand, guiding it toward his healed heart. He holds it there firmly and I feel its beat quicken and skip.

It is an intimate affection he can show without removing his helmet. No words need to be spoken. I deeply feel his meaning.

One of the unconscious troopers stirs. Din quickly draws his blaster and shoots the trooper still.

_He is a warrior. Plus, the fuckin’ trooper had it coming._

“We need to retrieve their ship’s power pack,” Din remarks, now back in kick-ass mode.

I bend and pick up his cuirass. “Here, put this on first,” I hold his smooth, surprisingly lightweight Beskar chestpiece.

\-----------------

_He stands still, allowing her to reattach his armor as his dark glass admires her. He no longer shies away from the warm feeling created by her presence; he no longer denies it. He welcomes it. He needs it. Her voice had drawn him back from the edge of the void, along with the kid’s healing grace._

\-----------------

He turns and gracefully strides over to the open hatch, jumping through into the trooper’s ship. I peer down the fluorescent opening and await his return. 

“You ok down there?” I shout. 

“Yeah,” he rumbles back. _Good talk_ , I think to myself.

I go over to check on the babe. He is resting comfortably and adorably. 

A few minutes later, Din reappears with his prize in hand: A brief-case-sized rectangular box.

“That’s it?” I ask, underwhelmed.

His dark glass shoots me what I assume to be a sideways glance, and he proceeds to flip some of the ship’s panels open, exposing the powercore. He attaches the device with some wires. A few moments pass and life slowly surges and whirs back into the ship. I feel my face and hands continue to warm as the temperature regulates back to normal. He reassembles the panel, shutting the new core inside.

Din walks past and grabs the troopers one by one, dropping their limp bodies back into their ship. _A fitting tomb_ , I think macabrely. He grabs the squeaky hatch door and thuds it shut, sealing our ship. 

Finished with his gruesome task, he checks on the babe. 

“Hey kid,” he lovingly strokes his green ear with his glove. “Thanks.”

I melt at the sight. The child is indeed of the Force. My heart stirs with melancholy recalling our shared connection.

“I’ve seen those symbols before,” I explain to Din, gesturing to the now dried, dirty scribbles on the deck’s floor.

“They look vaguely familiar,” he ponders, studying their shapes. “I know someone who might decipher what they mean.”

He strides past and up to the cockpit. I follow quickly behind.

_Din does not waste time._

Our ship is again functional. With a clattering shudder, he detaches us from the Imperial ship. He flips switches and buttons, readjusts our position, and pushes the throttle.

The streaking white lights of hyperspace appear and I am pressed against my seat. 

We are off to discover the meaning of the mysterious symbols - the same ones the babe’s mother shown to me over a year ago. My heart swells with excitement of the prospect - what it might mean. 

I look over to the Mandalorian, so grateful he is alive. 

I smile to myself, feeling a very strong connection to him - a deep connection I can’t explain or deny. I believe it is the beginnings of love.

_\----------------------------_

Thank you for reading (:


	3. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode III: Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din, Halarys, and the Child travel to the Child's very distant home planet. Who or what will they find?

White streaks of hyperspace shoot past like static on a screen, and all is quiet save for the mechanical hum of the rejuvenated ship.

I turn and gaze unapologetically at Din from the passenger seat, taking in the precise curves of his metal armor. My eyes can’t help but note the gentle rise and fall of his chest - proof he’s still breathing, proof he’s still alive.

_He’s alive._

Relief washes over me like a warm ocean wave. I swear I can still feel the warm, tingling energy from the Force vibrating through my hand…and Din’s longing heartbeat. My eyes sting again from the near-death experience and how deeply connected I feel to him - someone who is barely more than an acquaintance, someone I met less than two days ago. I don’t know anything about him other than his name and deadly profession. But deep down, I feel I do know him, his character. It’s inexplicable, it’s crazy, but I cannot deny it. Something itches inside of me, desperately wanting to reach out to him.

_My mind still circles around his dying words, spoken in an unfamiliar tongue. What did they mean? Did he remember?_

“It will take a few hours to get there,” his smooth, modulated voice breaks the silence as he lifts himself from the seat, dark glass gazing at me. “You should rest.”

I smile at his suggestion, unable to form words. _You’re the one who should rest - you were mortally wounded less than an hour ago_ , I think, again in shock from what happened. But I’m exhausted, and give into the drowsy temptation. The ship smoothly rocks and I drift into a deep sleep. 

\----------------------------

 _He watches her rest, her chest rises and falls in a slow, predictable motion. He reaches out a hand and brushes a long strand off her peaceful face, making her stir just a bit. The longing he feels is bottomless. His heart skips._ How can he feel this way? No living creature has ever seen his face since he swore the Creed. _But less than two days time with her, a veritable stranger, and he is deeply tempted. He touches his helm, heart aching to lift the barrier away and gently kiss her forehead. He nearly cannot resist, but forces himself to._ This is The Way. _He hardens himself and shifts his thoughts to the kid. The kid - he had saved his life._

_Din descends down the ladder to check on the child. A slight smile breaks on his face at the sight of him sleeping peacefully, but he can’t help but feel guilty the little one exhausted himself to save him. He strokes his long, soft ear, earning a little twitch._

“Thanks, you little womp rat,” _Din hushes affectionately to the babe. A tear forms in his eye thinking of how much a miracle this little green being is, how grateful he is to this child for saving his life in more ways than one._

_The Mandalorian then shuffles through the storage room and locates a soft, charcoal grey blanket - one of the few physical possessions he has from his childhood. With gloved fingers, he traces the blood-red embroidered mythosaur skull - this cloth was one of the gentlest memories of growing up as a Mandalorian foundling - and there were not many. He quietly strides back up the ladder and over to her peaceful form, eyes closed with sleep. He gently covers her torso with the warm cloth._

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,” _he barely whispers, staring tenderly at her pale facial features, committing them to memory._

I cannot resist her _, he thinks, feeling his pulse again falter at her sight. He sets himself back into the pilot chair, and cannot help but dream of her delicate, comforting hand over his beating heart as her piercing eyes stare into his visor. He peacefully drifts into slumber himself._

\----------------------------

I awake from the sudden descent. My groggy eyes slowly focus to a large, rickety freighter ship. We glide into its loading bay - it also appears to have a refueling post.

“She might be able to translate the symbols,” Din says, noticing I’m now awake.

An eccentric blue Ferroan woman waves her hands over her head, guiding us to a landing site. 

She’s a hermit nestled in a giant junk pit of antiquities and bizarrities from the far depths of the galaxy. I see what looks to be the enormous jarred and preserved hearts of both leviathans and common bantha that serve a stark contrast to the beautiful jeweled crowns of ancient and distant monarchies. There is an unimaginable volume of ship and other mechanical parts, mixed with elegant statues, chairs, and artwork that look fit for royalty. It’s an odd sight, mixing rusty junk with excessive wealth. 

_To each their own_ , I think.

Our ship wobbly lands with a shuddering metallic impact. _Din still needs to fix the damaged stabilizer._

I look down and notice the blanket that had appeared as I was sleeping. I smile, running my hands over the delicate features of the embroidery. 

Din gets up and brushes past. “We’ll need to bring a gift.”

I wrap the warm blanket around me. _I could have used this when I was freezing to death earlier_.

I gently pad down the ladder as the pneumatic ramp hisses open. The babe is still asleep as Din closes the pod and moves him to the small room.

“My favorite Mandalorian!” An exuberantly joyful voice announces with outstretched arms just as Din closes the small room’s door. The Ferroan rushes inside right as the ramp contacts the ground and grabs the Mandalorian, hugging him tightly. Din doesn’t quite reciprocate, but he doesn’t resist either. It would have been a futile attempt. 

“Look at this shiny Beskar upgrade. The new look suits you well!” she studies him up and down, lightly running her hands over his new pauldrons and cuirass. A slight shade of lust blushes on her blue face. “And you brought a friend!” her gaze shifts to me.

“Ziyain is my name. Welcome to my humble home!” she proudly chuckles.

“Nice to mee-,” Ziyain grabs my hands and urges me off the ship. “My name is Hal-,” I start again as she twirls me about laughing. I’m getting dizzy.

“The Mandalorian has found himself a good companion, I see,” her voice slightly jealous, but also pleased.

“Ziyain, enough,” Din scolds, strolling over.

“Well, where are my manners?” Ziyain asks rhetorically, giving a slight wounded look. “Mando, my sweet bounty hunter, to what do I owe this surprise visit?”

“I was wondering if you could translate some symbols,” Din cuts to the point, voice spiked with a hint of impatience.

“Why my dear Mando, you know I am well-versed in such matters!” she gleefully squeaks.

“They are here, on the ramp’s floor,” he gestures to the ship behind.

“How did they get there?” Ziyain inquires, eyes shifting to peek a look.

Din remains silent. 

“I suppose it does not matter,” she huffs, defeated. Her voice then turns greedy. “As much as I adore you Mando, I cannot offer my services without a fee,” her eyes search around the ship like a hawk predating for a morsel. Her sight then hones-in on the door to the small room. “Something small will do just fine.”

Seeing the focus of her attention, I feign a giant sneeze. She takes the distraction bait and turns to me - a wicked smile comes to her face, eyes now fixated upon mine.

“I like this,” she almost sadistically remarks. She closes the distance between us and I shut my eyes not expecting anything good. I feel her hands’ weight on my shoulders. “This Mandalorian blanket will do just fine,” she rips it from me.

“Deal,” the stoic Mandalorian agrees immediately. The child means more to him than a childhood remnant.

She squeals with greedy delight, rubbing her prize on her greasy face.

“Let’s take a peak at those symbols then!” She slings the blanket over her shoulder and shifts onto her knees. She peers down, her brow furrowed in concentration. Then her eyes open wide, as if in awe, and she nods her head vigorously. “Oh yes, yes, these are ancient indeed.”

“What do they mean?” Din rushes in a demanding tone, shoulders tensed.

“They appear to be coordinates. Referring to very old astrological signs,” she breathes in astonishment and traces the outlines.

“Where do they lead?” he demands.

“I am not sure,” she quickly admits, “but I have an old text or two that will help. Give me a few minutes,” she asserts, as she jumps up and abruptly turns to exit. She walks with newfound determination from the ship. “Just a few minutes!” she yells over her shoulder from her junk palace.

“Well she is a treat,” I tease Din, before noticing his tensed shoulders and frozen stance. The Mandalorian seems in shock. 

I walk over and set my hand gently upon his strong shoulder. His glassy gaze meets mine. 

“This might be great news,” I reassure. _Why was he so underwhelmed? I knew he wasn’t the most talkative, but he seemed too quiet._

Then it hits me. I realize he might be scared of the prospect of parting with the kid. He is obviously deeply attached to the little one - anyone with eyes can see that fact. Hells, I’m already attached to the green bugger and it’s only been about two days. I gently rub Din’s shoulder, trying to comfort him as best I can.

———————

 _He loves him. The green babe was one of the few beings he had ever cared for. And now the realization of locating his people and letting him go slowly clawed at his heart._ The child must be reunited with its kin. This is The Way _, he thinks, hardening his heart again._

———————

“I got it!” Ziyain yells out, scurrying over with an exaggerated victorious grin while waving a rough, yellowing piece of parchment over her head. “Here it is! I had to cross reference a few ancient texts, but I have decoded the symbols!” She proudly hands the paper over to Din.

He gazes at the scribbled coordinates, almost disappointed. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

“You are most welcome!” Ziyain proclaims. “Now you must stay for a meal!” she squeaks as she grabs Din’s hand, then mine.

“I need to finish repairs on my ship,” he unamusedly grumbles, trudging a few very reluctant steps before stopping.

“I can take a bite!” I assert, smiling to Ziyain so Din could complete his tasks. “I’d love for you to show me some of your favorite treasures,” I over-the-top-ly gesture with an open hand to the vast piles of debris, sprinkled with gorgeous and strange antiquities.

“That would be most wonderful!” Ziyain exclaims, dropping Din’s wrist. “You are much more interesting anyway,” she scoffs, looking at Din from the corner of her eye. She is pleased at my interest in her hoard. “Feel free to refuel as well, my handsome Mando!” she squawks.

“Come my beauty,” she insists, dragging me by the hand. I look at Din, now not-so-sure of my decision. He shrugs his armored shoulders. 

_What did I get myself into?_

She pulls me deep into the bowels of her rusty nest, her incessant chatter explaining select pieces along the way. I almost cannot keep up.

 _What_ **_did_ ** _I get myself into?_

We sharply turn a corner (or rather around a giant heap of twisted metal pipes) and a living area appears. A great, intricately carved table with jewels and gold leaf is the centerpiece of the room. Tall chairs lined with ruby velvet cushioning sit around like humble guests (or hostages). Then the savory smell of food wafts lazily to my nose. It surprisingly smells delicious.

“What a quaint home,” I semi-sarcastically compliment. 

“Thank you dear,” she smiles with pride. “Please have a seat.” She pulls a chair out and I sit - the padding was so soft, like sitting on a cloud.

A big bowl of some sort of stew appears before me. I can’t decipher any of the chunks inside, but I don’t think I want to know. The steaming heat assures me whatever risk of foodborne illness there is, was likely incinerated. Also reassuring, is that it smells absolutely amazing.

“Thank you,” I shyly smile to my excited host. I blow to cool the spoonful and lift it to my mouth. 

_Oh my gods, this was a savory, albeit slightly chewy delight._

Ziyain plops across from me with her own bowl. I swear she devours it in under a minute. She focuses her attention to me, living vicariously through my slurps as I savor the stew at a slower pace.

Ziyain then eyes at my large brown cloak. “You should be wearing something a bit more fitting for your journey ahead.” 

I look down - I still hadn’t changed into my dried clothing. “That really isn’t necess-,” I started to protest.

She jumps up. “I will be back shortly!” she squeaks from over her shoulder.

 _What was she up to now?_ I'll soon find out. 

I wait, continuing to devour the mystery stew. _I really should get this recipe._

She then emerges, with an armful of shiny metal. She draws closer and I recognize the material. 

_Beskar._

It is female Mandalorian armor.

My eyes widen in awe at the sight. _How did she obtain this?_

“I do not have the helmet, but I think this will be a good fit!” Ziyain warmly regards, offering the armor.

“Wow,” I gasp under my breath, my fingers reach out to trace the cool, metallic curves. 

“Put it on!” she hurries with excitement, shoving it into my arms.

I look around for an adequate place to disrobe. 

“Don’t be shy child,” she remarks. “Put it on!”

I suppose modesty isn’t something an eccentric hermit much cared for. I slip my brown robe over my head, setting it on the chair.

 _Was it wrong for me to wear this?_ I ponder, looking at the filigree-adorned metal, thinking of the religious significance it carried. _I’m not exactly a Mandalorian._

“Come on!” Ziyain urges, watching me intently.

I slowly slip into the form-fitting undercloth. It fits almost perfectly, just a little tight in the backside, but nothing I can’t bear. I clumsily attempt to attach the pieces of metal armor, failing miserably. 

Ziyain rushes over to assist. “Here, let me help,” she makes quick work of attaching the pieces, almost like she had done it many, many times before. “There,” she remarks as she snaps the chest piece in place. She slowly backs away, admiring me - suddenly, she looks as though she is deep in reminiscence. 

“Well how do I look?” I ask to break the silence.

“Beautifully fierce,” she gently smiles, pleased with her gift. Her eyes then seem to replay distant memories. I didn’t dare pry.

I realize that the armor was likely very valuable. Beskar is rare and strong - that much I knew from the small stitching needle I possessed. _I will need to repay her in some way, but I don’t know how._ I glance down again at the beautiful metal armor and then to her. “How can I repay you?” 

She closes the short distance between us and lays a hand on my shoulder, looking into my eyes, “you owe me nothing, my dear. Your company here today was more than enough payment.” Tears are welling in her eyes. I can’t help but think the armor belonged to someone for which she deeply cared. I feel humbled she is passing it onto me, a stranger.

I hear gentle footsteps approaching from behind. Ziyain’s face lights up, but she remains silent. I turn and my gaze finds Din. 

He stops still in his tracks, dark glass gleaming at me. He is tense.

\----------------------

 _He feels his heart start skipping involuntarily; he feels weak, yet stronger than ever before. To see her in Mandalorian armor - part of him felt conflicted, but the other wholeheartedly welcomed it. Ultimately, it was Ziyain's choice, and she had obviously given her blessing by passing along the armor of her deceased_ riduur. 

\----------------------

 _Is he furious or infatuated?_ I cannot tell. I see his breath quicken. He remains still and silent.

He then slowly closes the distance between us. He reaches out and places a hand gently on my shoulder. My face wears an uncertain expression and I feel ill at the high possibility of mocking his traditions - _or was it the stew?_

“It will serve you well,” he breathes and reassures. Relief washes over me as dark glass tenderly soaks up my sight. _Perhaps it is ok because of the lack of helmet_ , I muse. He seems always unmoving about the helm.

He gently runs his gloved hand over the curve of the metal pauldron. 

“Get a room you two,” Ziyain giggles shrilly, which tugs a smile on my lips.

“I was thinking the same thing,” I playfully tease at Din, knowing he’s having a moment. 

\----------------------

 _His heart skips uncontrollably and his breath becomes unsteady._ This woman, I cannot resist _, he defeatedly muses._

\----------------------

Noticing his changed breath, I apologize. “Din, I was joking - are you ok? ” I feel on his shoulder and he tenses.

“It’s ok,” he says, catching his breath.

I peer into his dark glass.

He steadies himself, returning to stoic warrior-mode, “The ship is refueled and repaired.”

“Well, sounds like it is time for the two lovebirds to continue on their adventure!” Ziyain chirps while striding over, wrapping her arms around us and nudging us back toward the ship.

\----------------------

 _Din sets his gaze back toward her. He cannot resist the magnetic pull._ He feels ashamed for such feelings, but as long as his helm remains, his Creed is still upheld, right? And having such feelings isn’t breaking the Creed, right? _he guiltily thinks, trying to find a loophole._

\----------------------

We reach the ship and Ziyain gives Din a very long, tight hug, whispering something into his ear and giggling. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Din was blushing under his helm.

She then turns her attention to me. I am greeted with an even tighter and longer hug. _Good thing I’m wearing armor_ , I think as her vise-like grip squeezes the breath from me. She whispers in my ear, “Take care of him and be patient,” she lifts away, holding me at arm’s length and smiling.

“Alright, you two must be on your way!” Ziyain proclaims, shooing us into the ship.

“Thank you, Ziyain,” I wave as the ship’s ramp slowly draws closed.

“Thank you,” Din smoothly rumbles at her.

I look down, again unsure of the armor. Din notices.

“The armor is a good idea,” he remarks. “The planet we’re headed to - I don’t know if we’ll be greeted with open arms or hostility.” 

“Yeah, good point. The armor is a nice safeguard,” I smile. “Plus it makes my shape look amazing,” I tease, now more confident that the armor isn’t inappropriate. 

Din slightly shakes his head at my antics and turns toward the babe’s door, opening it. He taps the pod’s controls - it opens, revealing a still-sleeping babe.

I approach to check his breath and temperature with a hand. _I should have checked his baseline vitals with my scanner_ , I curse in my head. His skin, although wrinkled, was soft with peach fuzz. I could feel his warm little breaths on my hand (10 RPM). He seems ok. 

“I think he just wore himself out,” Din reassures, hand now reaching out to my shoulder.

“I think you’re right,” I murmur.

“The coordinates lead to beyond Outer Rim Territory,” he admits with a low voice, his dark glass gleaming at the kid in what I perceive as bittersweet sentiment.

“How long will it take to get there?” I ask.

“About a day at full speed,” he sighs.

He makes his way back up to the cockpit. I follow behind - I cannot help but glance at his handsome backside, blushing but then immediately feeling rude for looking. 

We seat ourselves and he punches at all those seemingly random buttons and switches. The ship steadily ascends, proof that the stabilizer was now indeed repaired. 

We lift away, and with a final wave to Ziyain, turn to the melancholy darkness of space.

My belly fills with both excitement and uneasiness of what lies ahead.

Din positions the ship and pushes the lever. White streaks form and we jump again into hyperspace. Satisfied with the trajectory, he sets the ship to auto-pilot.

“We should get some rest while the kid still sleeps,” Din smoothly replies.

“We?” I tease seductively, raising a brow.

\----------------------

 _He breathes in deeply to steady his skipping heart._ What would she do if I said “yes”? _he muses._

\----------------------

He shakes his head.

“I’m going to take care of some things,” he vaguely retorts. I notice he’s flustered as evidenced by his high respiration rate.

I smile. “OK,” I quizzically reply. _What “things” did he need to take care of?_

He disappears down the ladder to the belly of the ship.

I sit and look around, trying to keep my thoughts from him. I stare at the many buttons on the control panel and attempt to discern their functions, but to no avail. My attention span is short and I am quite ok to continue not knowing much about ships. 

Then I hear a noise. I think it might be the babe.

“You ok down there?” I ask as I descend to the lower level. Din isn’t in sight.

I slowly open the door where the child had been roomed earlier, and peek in to check on him. I’m surprised to find Din sitting on the bed, in only his undercloth and helm. He has a hand to his chest, staring at the babe. He then notices me, dark glass glinting in the dull lights. He seems very upset, judging by his tense posture. But not at me - it seemed it was about the child.

I’m now concerned. “May I?” I ask for permission to enter the small bedroom. The babe is still asleep. Din remains still without answer, but doesn’t shoo me away, so I slowly approach.

I gently take a seat next to him, studying his chest and the hole left in his undershirt by the blaster shot. His shirt is thickly and stiffly stained from the blood loss earlier. I still can’t comprehend the miraculous healing the child performed. My breath stills at the thought.

Din’s hand then reaches to mine. He gently lifts my open palm, pressing it over the hole in his shirt. I feel his strong heartbeat, broken by a couple hard skips. I’m even more concerned.

“I meant those words,” he huskily speaks, voice faltering.

“What words?” I ask, slightly confused yet intrigued.

“Ni kart'ayl gar darasuum,” he admits, almost ashamed.

\----------------------

_His heart painfully skips and a heat rise over his entire body, hoping she doesn't ask what they mean. He's crazy to think she might reciprocate his feelings. They were strangers to each other._

\----------------------

 _His dying words_ \- I recognize them. "What does it mean?" I ask, eyes following from my hand on his chest to his visor.

I feel his heart start pounding harder. His dark glass pans up to my face.

"I love you," he says, voice husky and raw.

My breath hitches at his confession and I feel my own pulse quicken. _The meaning behind his dying words._ I cannot deny my feelings either. The gravitational pull I feel toward him is undeniable - stronger than anything I’ve ever felt. And the pain I had felt at his death was unbearable. Here he is before me, alive, vulnerable, almost literally placing his heart in my hands, at my mercy. I’m completely humbled.

“I love you too,” I murmur, shocked yet freed by my own confession. He presses his hand more firmly over mine and I feel his love racing beneath my palm.

I lean and press my head to his helm and he leans in. I didn’t know how Mandalorian romance worked, or if it even was a thing. _I’ll let him lead_ , I decide.

“You’re full of dried blood.” I can’t resist to cut the affectionate tension, feeling the desiccated blood over his chest.

“Yes,” he smoothly replies. “Perhaps you could help me?” he nervously suggests.

“Well, I’d say sponge baths were above me as a respected healer…but for you, I’d make an exception,” I reply coyly with a smirk on my face, trying to hide the fact that I myself am nervous.

He stands up and lifts his undershirt up and over his helmet. Well, I have to assist getting it over the head armor as it gets a little hung up. I can’t resist but stare at his bare torso. His left chest and much of his abdomen are stained thick with the blackened red of his dried blood. 

I gather cloths and containers of water from the storage boxes in the hold. The babe remains asleep, peacefully.

I soak a cloth with water and bring it tenderly to his chest, where the thickest of the blood had accumulated. He is allowing me to see his skin. I am again humbled, but also infatuated.

His breath hitches as I wipe the first stroke. “Did I hurt you?!” I withdraw my hand and look him in his dark glass with great concern.

“No…it’s just a little cold,” he breathes.

I laugh with relief. “Sorry.” I continue to wash the blood, soaking an entire cloth. I grab a fresh one and the blood slowly dissolves to reveal smooth skin over a muscular form. I can’t help but feel his muscles under the cloth as I make sweeping passes. Another cloth is soaked. I wet yet another and continue - he sits still and patient, watching my hands work.

\----------------------

_He soaks up the gentle touch he had longed for for what seemed like an eternity._

\----------------------

As the last layer of blood dissolves, I notice a handful of old scars from old injuries scattered across his chest and abdomen. My fingers can’t resist tracing one on the LUQ of his abdomen. It’s about eight centimeters long - it would have been a serious injury. His hand meets mine, this time voluntarily **_un_** _gloved_. 

I raise my eyes to meet his dark glass. I briefly begin to wonder what color his eyes are. But it doesn’t matter. All I needed was his touch - his physical proximity. _Plus, I find the shirtless helmet deal quite intoxicating._

His golden-olive skin quickly air dries from the heat he emits. Dark glass gleaming, his hand reaches to feel my face. His hands are strong yet gentle, softly tracing my hairline and down my jawline. I reach up to his hand as he caresses my cheek.

He gently leans into me, pulling me close, he then slowly leans back, pulling me with him in his strong arms. 

“Ow,” I giggle as I hit my forehead on the underside of his helm.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, shifting me onto my side. He now seems embarrassed and tenses up.

“It’s quite alright. I’m also a bit out of practice,” I laugh, looking into his mysterious gleaming, dark glass. My eyes shift to the relaxing rise and fall of his ribcage.

“We really should get some rest,” he admits, voice now heavy with defeated exhaustion.

 _I will let him set the pace_ , I think patiently, just blissfully content to be in his presence.

He lays peacefully on his back, left arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling. 

_He looks so inviting._ I shift to lay closer and he doesn’t protest, so I rest my head on his toned chest. His arm slowly comes down, holding me in a warm, loving embrace. I feel so safe, so cherished. I can feel and hear his breath, but barely, over the strong pounding of his heart.

I reach up to his chest, tenderly placing a palm over his cardiac apex, the area that had been pierced by plasma. I try to calm his nerves. His heart rate gradually slows and PVCs much less frequent. 

“Wow, look at me all in my armor, and you in such a state of undress, Mandalorian,” I snort. _I really could not resist breaking the silence with a lame attempt at humor._

He lets out a small, breathy laugh. I soak up his warmth like a blurrg in a desert sun.

I haven’t fallen asleep yet, but I feel as though I’m in a dream.

I listen to his heartbeat, its valves opening and closing. I feel it is such an intimate, trusting gesture to allow me so close. No scanner could ever reproduce the delicate sound quality of his heart beneath my ear. And his strong arm around me - I feel the safest I have ever been..and more importantly, _loved._

His breath grows more rhythmic and slow, and heartbeat gradually slowing to a much healthier rate. He has fallen asleep.

Shortly, I follow him into slumber, with his heartbeat as my lullaby.

\--------------------------

I wake as my body is thrown off the end of the bed, crashing to the ground over the threshold. Luckily, I’m mostly protected by my armor.

Din picks himself from the floor next to me.

“Are you ok?” He looks me up and down as I rise.

“I’d still take that neck massage,” I joke, rubbing the back of my neck. “Anyway, I should be asking you that question - you’re the one without armor.” 

The ship heavily jerks about again, sending me crashing atop Din in a _very_ suggestive position. Shrill alarms begin wailing. They’re different than before.

“The kid!” Din proclaims.

He pushes me off and sprints his way up to the cockpit. The ship veers and jerks again. I fall on my backside.

 _Oh fuck, where is the kid?_ My heart jumps as I notice his pod is empty.

I rush up to the cockpit as the ship levels out and alarms cease. I breach the next level and enter the room.

Din holds the giggling babe. 

“He was playing with his metal ball,” he gestures to the top of a joystick. 

I break out in adrenaline-fueled laughter.

“You sneaky little green bean,” I snort as I grab him from Din’s arms. “How the hells did you get up here?” I rub his adorable ears. His large eyes glisten and he coos. 

_Seriously, can you levitate now? No, like really? Because I wouldn’t be surprised._

Din switches controls, determining how off-course we are. He’s so focused. _And still shirtless, thank gods._ I shake myself from the rude, lusty thought and sit myself down with the babe. I twist the metal ball from the joystick and hand it to him. He coos loudly receiving his prize.

“We are nearly there,” Din soberly remarks. 

We suddenly jump from hyperspace and a small, beige planet peppered with streaks of dull red gazes at us.

“It’s your home,” I smile to the babe in my lap.

The child grows quiet, eyes wide as we come into its atmosphere. As we descend, its features sharpen into focus. A sick feeling pricks at my gut. 

_It’s barren._

We glide about 30 meters above the ground, searching for any signs of civilization. 

We pass over great sand dunes, red mountain ranges, and great spires of intricate natural stone formations. Minutes pass and yet no signs of life. My gut sinks lower. 

Then on the horizon, we spot a great structure of some sort. My heart lightens with a gust of fresh hope.

We draw closer its shape vaguely becomes more discernible - it appears ancient, like ruins. I slowly feel the energy, similar to what I felt before. _The Force_ , I think. I can sense the child feels it as well; his round eyes focused on the magnificent walls ahead. I feel the energy grow stronger as we draw nearer. 

“Please land here,” I point. _The feeling is urgent - I cannot explain it._

Din looks over, seeing the two of us fixated on the ruins. He obeys, starting the descent. We gracefully hover and land about 15 meters from the foot of the crumbling stone structure. The sand cushions our landing.

Din springs up and rushes down the ladder. The child and I stare frozen for a few minutes, feeling the energy flowing within and over our skin, almost electric.

I stand up with child in my arms and make my way down the ladder to the lower level. Din has already replaced all of his armor and strapped a long weapon on his back with others hidden on his sides.

“Here,” he asserts, handing me a blaster. “If I recall correctly, you are quite proficient.”

I weakly smile and grasp it, not arguing. We don’t know exactly what lies ahead. He then hands me my medic bag I’d left under the cot. I accept it as well. _Hopefully I will not need to use either._

The pneumatic door hisses open and the bright yellow-white of the sand squints my eyes. The heat emanates in waves. 

We step out of the ship’s shadow as the door closes, exposing us to the large broiling sun looming in the pale blue sky. I look to Din for reassurance and he nods. The energy continues to pull at me. The babe coos.

As we approach closer, footing clumsily through soft sand, the ruins’ detail comes into greater focus. It appears to be an important spiritual place. Worn symbols, like those I had seen in my mind’s eye and those the child drew, intricately cover what appears to be the remnants of an entrance. I can feel them, like they’re trying to speak to me. The energy beckons and draws me forward, skittering over my skin- I cannot resist. The babe’s ears and eyes are focused intensely. 

As we reach the threshold, I stare up at the broken walls and open ceiling - sun pours unforgivingly through the giant worn windows, cascading select light within. The inside has been partially-filled with sand, masking it’s true height, and large crumbled stone pieces lay within like an unfinished labyrinth. 

The energy intensifies and I can feel the child’s energy amplify in my arms, stronger than when he had healed Din. The babe’s kind may be physically gone, but their spiritual presence never faded. It starts flowing around and between us - I feel we are a convergence point, drawing energy from all the ancestors that had lived and died here…and maybe elsewhere. I suddenly feel a very familiar nurturing instinct - a mother’s instinct. I smile - _his mother’s energy_ , or spirit, or Force, or whatever you want to call it, is here. She is flowing within me.

A feeling of intense happiness overwhelms me. I look to the child with tears brimming in my eyes, hugging him closer - I feel a thankful feeling welling in chest. The child coos and giggles, I sense she is saying hello to her babe - somehow using my physical form to hug and touch. A bittersweet reunion. I then feel the Force flow in a different direction. A feeling of protection and motherly instinct ripples through my chest.

I must care for the child; it is my duty, along with Din’s. _We are to protect and nurture him_. Suddenly, the energy turns cool, swaying me in an instant to be on the alert. My nerves are tingling with electricity and my hand instinctively grips my blaster.

“Hey scientist!” A dark, low voice erupts through the air.

My heart freezes in recognition. I knew that bastard’s voice from anywhere. 

I turn and the entrance is surrounded by six stormtroopers and a leader donning a (hideous) Imperial uniform. The leader’s voice is that of the stormtrooper who had murdered the babe’s mother. The scum must have risen the ranks.

_How did they find us?_

My question was answered with the gruesome sight - a familiar severed blue arm appears in the leader’s grip - he holds it high like a trophy. 

_It was Ziyain’s._

_Fucking bastards._ My heart flames with vengeful rage.

I can’t control it - I fire my blaster at his fat head, shielding the babe and running to take cover behind some great fallen stones. I feel blaster shots hit and bounce off my armor - the armor Ziyain had given me. My rage explodes thinking of her fate. She had very likely bled to death from a hasty amputation as such, and slow enough to know what was happening.

Din returns fire and strikes two of the fuckers down, their return fire just bouncing off his armor. He shuffles and takes cover about five meters from me, behind another grouping of fallen stones.

He looks over to me. I give him a thumbs up that the babe and I are ok. The babe remains still and attentive, ears darting in different directions. _I’ll keep you safe._ ** _We_** _will keep you safe_ , I think, glancing over to Din.

I peer over the stone’s uneven edge and again take fire. I return their fire. I hit one of them in the neck and he falls. 

The leader is shielded by the three remaining stormtroopers who continue to pepper shots at our stone shields.

Din continues to fire. Another falls.

_Four down, two to go._

“Hand over the child, scientist!” he taunts. “We wouldn’t want him to end up dead like his mother, now would we?”

 _That fucking bastard._ Rage violently erupts from my core, coursing hot through my limbs like a supernova. I emerge over the stone and aim again at the fucker’s exposed head with my finger on the trigger.

A piercing hot sensation strikes my shoulder, knocking me backward. I feel a sudden, sharp pain at the base of my skull. I think I hear Din’s voice shouting “no”, but the voices and blaster fire grow more distant and I faintly feel the babe fall from my grip. The world drifts into a peaceful darkness. 

\----------------------

Then I open my eyes. The beautiful violet eyes of my dear friend meet mine. 

“Q’uijalah,” I whisper with a grateful and thankful smile. My soul feels at peace.

“Halarys,” she smiles, caressing my face.

“I thought you were dead…or am -,” the realization hits me. “I’m so sorry Q’uijalah. It was all my fault.”

Her violet eyes soften. “My death was not your doing. I should have not insulted the trooper who tried to steal my bread. You know how time-consuming the dough is. I cannot give it away for free,” she jokes. Her mood grows more serious as she takes my hand. “It was not your fault, Halarys.”

“Are you ok?” I ask, eyes darting between her’s.

“Yes, I am with my daughter now. Oh Halarys, she is beautiful.” A child about 6 years old appears from behind Q’uijalah.

“Mommanah?” she shyly asks looking at Q’uijalah then me - her eyes are just as violet.

“It is ok, Jhalia. This is mommanah’s friend, Halarys. She likes my bread just as much as you!” Q’uijalah smiles.

“Jhalia, that is a beautiful name,” I compliment, smiling. “It is so very nice to finally meet you.” 

The girl shyly smiles at me. “Nice to meet you too.” 

“I bet you and your mom are making those sand lizards very fat,” I tease.

“Yes we feed them everyday and I have names for all of them!” she proudly proclaims, then giggles. 

My heart lightens and I feel the pull to join them in the eternal paradise.

“Halarys has to go now,” Q’uijalah remarks

“What?”

“It is not yet your time,” she affirms. “Go. Go back to your destiny. The Mandalorian and the Child. They are your future. They are The Way.”

“Q’uijalah - I don’t want to leave you,” tears start to well.

“It is ok. We are safe and happy here,” she reassures with her warm smile and violet eyes. “We will meet again - a very long time from now. But we will meet again.” 

She helps me rest back down on the ground. I smile to her.

“I love you, Q’uijalah, my dearest friend.” I caress her face and stare into her violet eyes once more. I turn to Jhalia, “I expect very happy and fat sand lizards when I see you next.” They both giggle.

“Until we meet again,” I smile with reluctance, my hand slipping from Q’uijalah’s. 

I start drifting backward, into a foggy haze. 

\--------------------

“Halarys….Halarys!!” Din’s voice and dark helm come into focus. 

“Din - what hap-,” I come to realize my brush with death.

“I thought I lost you,” he breathes with relief. “You were seriously injured.” He grabs me and hugs me tightly - I can feel his terrified heart pounding even through his beskar. 

“I applied bacta,” he remarks, “but the child did most of the work though.”

I shift and see the babe - his green ears focused on me. He was stronger in this place and did not exhaust from saving me. “Thank you. I do believe you both saved my life,” I smile. 

Bearings mostly restored, I shakily come to my feet. Whatever traumatic brain injury I had suffered is now fading fast.

More blaster fire comes our way. There’s only the leader and one goon left. 

“You cannot win!” the leader rudely shouts.

Din and I return fire. Din takes down the remaining trooper, exposing the leader. Gods he is cocky.

I mercilessly take aim. 

I shoot his weapon from his hand, rendering him completely vulnerable.

Then I shoot him twice in the side, just as he did to the child’s mother. He cries out and falls on his side. His velvet blood oozes out and soaks the sand. I rush over, blaster aimed between his eyes, debating whether to finish the job or sever his arm as he did to Ziyain.

He looks up at me, scared and in agony. “Please…please…help me,” he begs, blood seeping from his mouth and pain causing him to convulse. I study the glistening blood gushing from his side.

“That feeling you’re having - well, you’re losing about a pint of blood a minute. You’re experiencing exsanguination. I likely nicked your superior mesenteric artery. It will take roughly four to five minutes for you to die,” I say coldly and objectively. I shake my head with fake sympathy, leaning down to look him directly in his cold, pathetic eyes. “You might feel your limbs slowly become numb and cold. You also might start hallucinating.” I draw even closer to his face. “You will die. And that is something I will _never_ lose sleep over.” 

“Noooo!” he gasps with desperately outreaching hands. I easily avoid his grasp.

I stand upright, leaving him to perish, frightened and alone. _I hope the ancestors here show you a good time._

The Mandalorian stares at me, now out from behind our hiding stones, holding the child. He is seemingly shocked by my cold-hearted vengeance. His reaction isn’t lost on me, and I break down.

 _How could I have let him see me like that? And the child?_ Emotions flood, hotly pouring down my face, evaporating on the sand. _What have I done?_

He comes to my side, with the child. A comforting hand rests on my back.

“He deserved it,” Din judges.

He lifts me to my feet, leather fingertips wiping some of the bitter tears from my cheek, but they fall faster than he can keep up. He holds me tightly against his Beskar and I bury my face into his cowl. I slowly calm my breathing, focusing on the gentle rise and fall of Din’s chest. My tears start to fade. The child coos and rests his small hand upon my shoulder - energy flows through me, feeling of love and protection. 

_Everything is going to be ok._

Din holds me closer in his comforting embrace. “We love you,” he murmurs, his helm’s chin resting on my head. 

We stare up to the ruins and then look to the green babe. 

He is the last child of this place - Din and I are his family. 

\----------------------

 _This is The Way,_ Din thinks to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you for reading my writing and leaving kudos - it makes me smile (: This is my first ever fanfiction. I absolutely LOVE The Mandalorian fandom - thank you all!
> 
> Side note: I want to thank my wonderful husband for providing Star Wars knowledge to add some more authenticity to my story. (I am honestly more of a Trekkie, but The Mandalorian has obviously convinced me otherwise.) 
> 
> And yes, this is turning into a saga instead of my originally planned trilogy because why not? (:


	4. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode IV: Narajarro ispiens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The saga continues. The Mandalorian and the healer travel to a peaceful planet - or is it?

We stand there in the ruins, the child and I in Din’s strong embrace. I can smell blood on the hot desert breeze. A deep rouge stains the sand, seeping from the lifeless stormtrooper bodies. They stare at me with eternal finality. 

All the recent events rush my thoughts - and the realization strikes me like a stampede of wild bantha. 

_The fighting will never end. No matter where we go, they will find us. They will never stop searching for the Child._

I feel panic bubble in my gut and up through my throat, trying to suffocate me. _There might be no end to this slaughter._

“Are you ok?” Din asks; I can feel his breath escape down his helm. 

“They’re not going to stop, are they?” I speak the thought at the forefront of my mind, blankly staring at the ancient stone. 

“No,” he affirms my fears. “Their back up might be headed our way. We should leave.”

He looks gently down at the child and then to me, dark glass blazing in the scorching sun. I feel safe in his arms, but I can’t help but feel it was rooted in farce. The Mandalorian is mortal flesh and blood, beating heart beneath my hand. He was also _very_ prone to injury in the short time I’ve known him. 

The child and I can’t heal him forever. And he can’t protect us forever; although, I know with a raw certainty he will always try. 

I love them both. My eyes and heart ache painfully at the potential tragedy our futures might hold. I feel the melancholy energy of the ruins envelop us. 

“We should go,” Din urges, loosening his embrace - it snaps me from my thoughts. The sun shines brightly through the worn windows acting as a spot light to a couple of the dead stormtroopers. It was their eternal resting place now.

We pass through the great entrance, covered in all those strange, ancient symbols of an almost-forgotten language. The bodies act as the final obstacle to reach our ship. The leader had finally taken his dying breath, cold, dead eyes staring at the sand. I can smell his hot blood baking in the heat.

Then my eyes glance over Ziyain’s arm. 

_I am so sorry_ , I think as tears well hot in my eyes - anger again rages through me, despite my recent revenge. 

“This is no circumstance in which to raise a child,” I blurt angrily - _the babe shouldn’t have to see this violence._

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Din remarks, speaking the cold-hard truth.

The battle would always find us.

Then I notice the energy from the ruins dissipate. It was there, and then suddenly gone, like grains of sand swept away in the wind. I can’t help but wonder where it went. It somehow made me feel even more empty.

My eyes then shift to Din. He carries the child in his armored arms. My heart fills with some happiness. He’s so tender with the babe - _he is a good father_.

Feet clumsily step through the baking desert sand as we make our way in the scorching sun to the ship. We don’t say a word. My brain is numb, unable to produce speech.

We enter the ship’s shadow as the ramp hisses open. I turn and take one last look at the ruins. Din and I have a huge responsibility now. I didn’t feel I could live up to the task. 

I feel Din’s hand on my shoulder. I look in his dark glass as he grabs my hand and leads me up the ramp. The refreshing cool of the ship washes over the sweat on my temples. I remove my armor plates one by one to better soak in the cool, as the pneumatic door hisses shut, closing us from the child’s barren home planet. 

I turn to him as he sets the babe down. Salty warms tears brim in my eyes and fall from my face without warning. _I’m in shock._ He pulls me close and I burst into sobs on his metal chest.

“I’m going to rust your armor,” I gasp, trying to make a joke, ashamed of my abrupt fit of emotion.

“Fortunately, Beskar doesn’t rust,” he smiles, resting his chin on my head and pulling me tighter. I gaze down and the babe stares into my eyes with concern in his. He reaches up with a hand.

It snaps my from my fit. 

I let go of Din, wiping away the tears with the backs of my hands. I bend over and snatch up the green bundle of ears.

“You are so special,” I smile, looking into his eyes with love in my soul. “Your father and I will do our best to protect you.” _I had to be strong for him. And I would do anything to protect the babe, just as his mother trusted me to._

Din softly smiles to himself and feels his knees weaken at the word “father” - he was officially the permanent father to his small foundling as the Creed declared. He hugs us closer.

I still don’t think I’m cut out for this - _I am a healer, not a warrior. But maybe I have to learn._ I promised his mother, and I will keep my word. I’m also not in it alone; Din is my companion. The feeling of overwhelm passes for now. 

“Let’s get out of here,” I smile, feeling much better. 

Din looks at me. “On it.” He turns, cape flipping, and eases up the ladder to the cockpit. I hear the engines roar to life and feel the gentle weight of lift off. 

I hug the babe. “You must be hungry after all lives you’ve been saving lately!” He coos and giggles in agreement. _I need to distract myself._ I shift him to my hip and place a clean plate inside the food synthesizer. I punch away at the buttons, ordering it to make the entry as Din had prepped the other night.

“Brown puree for three, coming on up!” I place a clean plate inside and watch as the mush appears.

“I’m going to jump to hyperspace in 5 seconds. Brace yourselves,” Din smoothly yells from the cockpit.

I sit down and brace against a wall. The child giggles as the heavy weight of catapulting into hyperspace tickles our stomachs. 

Din’s footsteps draw my attention to the ladder. I watch as the handsome dad made his way down.

“I have us on course to a small, sparsely-populated planet. If we are being followed, it would take awhile for them to locate us,” Din reports, sharing his navigation. “It will be prudent to save fuel while we figure out our next steps.”

I smile and nod in recognition, enjoying his handsome voice. _Gods that voice!_

“I attempted making lunch,” I sheepishly admit, changing the subject. Din’s dark glass shifts to the synthesizer. The slop had sloshed to one side, making a mess. _Oops._

“Smells good,” he tries his hardest to compliment.

“I am so sorry,” I huff as I set the babe on the ground and shift upwards to the mess. “I am still getting used to the ship - I will clean it up.”

“Over half is still on the plate,” he smiles. “That will be plenty for you and the kid,” he says without hesitation, sacrificing his portion.

“Din, you need to eat,” I urge. “I will make another portion.”

“I will do it,” he insists, dark glass tenderly gleaming. “You and the kid need your strength.”

I smile at his chivalrous nature. _I am going to spoil the hells out of you whenever I get the chance_ , I think. Then I feel a nudge on my leg. 

The babe is peering up at me, eyes pleading for food.

“My sweet green bean,” I proclaim with ridiculous dramaticism. He giggles and coos as he watches me scoop his portion on to another plate. I take a contemplative look at him and then to the plate.

“How about we learn to use utensils, you little monster?” I propose with brow raised. He looks inquisitively at me, large ears and bright eyes focused. Din watches in curiosity as well.

I grab some eating sticks and sit cross-legged in front of him. I carefully demonstrate, his eyes honed-in on what I was doing. I grip the sticks between my thumb and index finger, resting it on my middle finger. I then remember he only had 3 fingers - _but that’s all he needed, right?_ I continue to demonstrate by scooping a bite onto the sticks. 

“See?” I ask the babe, his eyes intently focused. 

I lift the first bite to his mouth. He looks at it cross-eyed, studying the morsel, and then his small mouth opens and eagerly slurps it off the sticks.

“Yeah!” I exclaim, grinning ear-to-ear. “Good job!” _Gods you are damn adorable._

I then offer the sticks to the child. He attempts his best to hold the one stick. He is struggling - I realize he can barely grasp just one. His hand anatomy simply would not allow. 

“He needs something round,” Din recognizes, breaking my concentration with his suggestion. He grabs two clean eating sticks and hurries back up to the cockpit. 

“What’s your daddy doing?” I whisper to the wide-eyed babe, ears now twitching toward Din’s movement upstairs.

Din appears down the ladder again, with the sticks in hand. He joins us and sits cross-legged, his hand offering the creation to the babe. He had wedged the sticks side-by-side in the metal ball.

“What a clever idea,” I compliment. _What a good daddy._

The babe grasps the metal ball, sticks pointed downward, and I offer the plate, nodding in encouragement. Din leans in closer.

He scoops at the mush and manages a small glob to sit on the end. He brings it to his mouth, but the morsel falls onto his robe just before it reached his lips.

“That’s ok, kid,” Din encourages over my shoulder. _My ovaries are bursting now._

“You got this, green bean,” I smile, encouraging him to take another try.

His eyes are focused as he attempts another scoop. This time he loads twice as much onto the sticks. But this time, instead of bringing the sticks to his mouth, he leans in and takes the bite. 

“Good job, green bean!” I chuckle in delight. 

“Good job, kid,” Din smiles, with more enthusiasm in his voice than I ever heard before.

The child’s face is now close to the pile of food. He can’t resist. He dives his face-first.

“Bean!” I erupt in laughter. He is starving and patience was worn thin with the first tries. “You gave a really good first attempt,” I congratulate in defeat. 

Din smirks. “I could always teach him how to use a straw,” he teases. I assume that was why his food was set to puree.

I laugh at Din’s remark, “You’re getting to be a real funny guy, aren’t you?” I playfully paw behind me at his helm. His heart skips at my attention. 

The green bean licks his plate clean and gazes at us contentedly.

“Alright kid, let’s get that face cleaned up so Halarys can eat,” Din rumbles as he plucks up the green monster, holding him at arm’s length. The child giggles.

“Thank you, Din,” I say looking over my shoulder. His dark glass glints at me with a nod as he begins wiping the babe’s face and robe clean.

I inhale my portion. It looks horrid, but tastes pretty good even lukewarm.

I get up and start to attempt cleaning the synthesizer. 

“I got it,” Din interrupts, handing me the babe. “Keep the kid entertained. I’ll clean up and make my portion.”

I don’t argue, he seems determined. “Thanks,” I smile. _He does chores too?_

“Alright, green bug, what would you like to do?” I twirl around and dip, making him giggle.

“May I have this dance?” I ask the bouncing green ears. He coos in response, ears twitching up and down a smile on his sweet little green face.

“I will take that as a yes!” I twirl him, lifting him above my head. I begin singing the only part I recalled to a song I would hear Q’uijalah sing in her bakery:

_You are the reason for the suns to shine._

_You are the reason for the oceans’ tides._

_You are the reason for my breath inside._

_And you are forever, forever mine._

_Forever, forever mine._

I then remember the exciting dancing Q’uijalah dragged me into on numerous occasions. I mimic the knee to hip dance with the babe. We are both giggling. I can almost hear the wind instruments and bassy drums play. 

Breathless with the babe giggling in my arms, I notice Din. He’s standing watching us, sipping a liquid through his long straw.

“How about your daddy gets in on the action?” I gleefully tease.

Din sets his liquid meal down, putting his hands up in defense, “Uh…”

I grab his hand and try to make him twirl. He is stiffer than a stone wall. 

“Come on!” I playfully prod. 

“Mandalorians don’t really participate in such things,” he explains.

“OK,” I can’t tell if it was just an excuse. I dance around him with the child. 

“I am enjoying watching you though,” his voice lightens, returning to his drink.

“Dinner and a show it is!” I twirl around him with the giggling babe. “We are pretty fantastic dancers,” I brag, then promptly stumble on my own foot, contradicting my confidence. 

Din breathes a couple laughs. The kid giggles as well.

“Hey, who’s side are you on?” I smile to the green bean. “Alright, I think I’m going to vomit if I keep at this pace,” I laugh, setting the kid down. Din hands him the metal ball, now freed of the sticks.

“Thanks,” Din murmurs.

“For what?” my eyebrow raises in question.

“For making the kid happy,” he breathes. “And for making me happy.” His dark glass flashes at me, then looks to the ground, almost in shame at his confession.

“Din -,” I approach, placing a hand over the Beskar covering his heart and with the other hand redirecting his gaze. “Thank you for trusting me,” I stare deeply into his glass, I swear I can almost see his eyes.

Din feels a pressure around his boot and looks down. The kid is hugging his leg, making his heart swell.

“Hey you little womp rat,” he exhales with the effort of bending down and bringing the cooing child to our level. It makes my heart feel like velvet.

“We ought to give him a name,” I muse, stroking the little one’s ear, his large, dark eyes studying my face and words. 

Din is silent. _A name is a big decision._

I see Din’s shoulders tense, seemingly overwhelmed by the prospect of a name, and I run my hands over his cowl in reassurance. “We don’t need to do it now, but we must give him one eventually,” I elaborate. “I just don’t think ‘green bean’ counts.”

The kid yawns and his eyes flutter with drowsiness. 

“Time for bed,” I diagnose.

Din carries him over to the pod and gently sets him in, covering him with his little blankets. 

“Night kid,” the Mandalorian father softly speaks as the child’s eyes flutter shut for sleep. My lungs melt at the sight.

“You’re a natural,” I gently smile to Din.

—————

His heart falters. He _never_ thought he would be a father, especially not to a foundling. He also never thought he would or could find someone like me. Someone he can love and trust. Someone with whom he can share his life and raise a child. **His** child - no, _our_ child. _The impossible suddenly seems possible._ And he isn’t going to let us go or be taken by anyone. Not while he still breathes.

His thoughts fall back to Halarys, lifeless in his arms.

_—————_

Dark glass shines at me - he closes the distance between us and pulls me close; I can feel the hot breath billow from beneath his helmet. I’m in shock at his advance.

“You didn’t suffer a head injury during the fight, did you?” I say, squinting at his helm. I am genuinely awestruck by his more outright affection.

“I thought I lost you back there,” his dark glass glimmers tenderly at my eyes. He holds me tighter, a grip that promises to never let go. His warm breath escapes his helm, glancing gently over my face.

I place a kiss on his armored heart and then hold my hand there. _I had died._ I intertwine the fingers of my free hand with his. _But now I live, again._

I softly sing the verse as before:

_You are the reason for the suns to shine._

_You are the reason for the oceans’ tides._

_You are the reason for my breath inside._

_And you are forever, forever mine._

_Forever, forever mine._

We sway ever-so-slightly in the most gentle of motions, like meadow grass in a soft summer breeze. I can feel his breath falter. A single warm drop falls from his helm and onto my hand which soothes over his heart. _It is a tear._

I wrap my arms around him, resting my head on his chest. I hear his heart thumping hard and alive underneath the Beskar. _We are both alive…and both here, together._

We stand in that embrace for minutes, just enjoying the simple touches, humbled by our escapes from death’s veil. I look up and gently reach to his helm. He doesn’t grab my wrists _\- he trusts me._ I slowly guide him to bend so his helm’s forehead touches mine. 

“I love you, Din,” I hush, warm tears welling in my eyes. “I love you and the child.” His hug tightens in response.

Suddenly we jump from hyperspace. Din keeps me from falling as though he had anticipated the sudden deceleration.

I look into his dark glass. “Seems we’ve arrived,” I smile, wiping some of my happy tears.

“I think you’re correct,” his dark glass glints and his embrace loosens.

We turn, making our way up the ladder to the cockpit.

As my head breaches to the upper level, I look in awe at the beautiful deep blue planet, jeweled with large splotches of vibrant yellow and vivid green. It looks like an oasis. 

I lean on Din, wrapping my arms around his waist and stare at the peaceful world.

He shifts and sits himself in the pilot seat, grabbing at controls and switches, taking us from autopilot. He steers the ship forward, breaching the lush world’s atmosphere.

We descend through a patch of thick, white cloud that slowly fades, unveiling the approaching deep green coastline. Towering, vine- and moss-cloaked trees and arching lichenous rock formations come into crisper view.

“Another holiday?” I playfully tease, gently poking his ribs through the break in his armor, making his pulse spike from the attention.

We glide about 50 meters above the ground, ducking around the old rock arcs and the trunks and mossy vines of the trees. Great feathered birds and herbivorous bats burst from the foliage as we rush past. 

Din spots a slight clearing in the underbrush - a small patch of flat rock, otherwise surrounded by thick flowering underbrush. We descend, aiming in, then hover and slowly lower down. The metal-on-stone impact barely shudders the ship.

“You make it look so easy,” I compliment. _He’s a great pilot._

“It isn’t that difficult,” he shyly replies, dark glass glimmering in the new sun’s light.

He rises from his seat and makes his way to the lower level. I plod behind.

He checks on the babe as my feet touch the ship’s belly. He’s still sleeping. 

_My son_ , Din muses. His heart twinges again at the thought. He reaches and strokes his ear earning a little twitch and deep breath.

My belly softens and flutters at the sight - every time he shows affection to the babe, it makes me melt. It makes me love him even more.

“We should take weapons with us,” he breaks the silence.

“What?” I ask, caught off-guard, trying to reattach my armor and failing. _Why was it so stubborn to attach?_

“There are large predators here, and who knows when the Imps might show,” he reports, stepping over and grabbing the armor from me. He gently yet quickly snaps the pieces in place.

“Thanks,” I smile, briefly distracted by the attention. “Wait - large predators?” I repeat. “Why exactly do we need to go outside?” I anxiously inquire, pulling on my medic bag. I walk over and stoop, reaching into the medical chest to replenish my bacta supply.

“I…uh…I might have forgot to mention I have some coin stored nearby,” he confesses. “I hadn’t had a very good reason until now to reclaim it.” 

“Oh…,” I mutter, my face wearing slight disappointment that he wasn’t entirely forthcoming. I close my stocked bag.

“Halarys…I’m sorry,” Din remarks, feeling stupid he didn’t just tell me right away.

I realize the coin was likely obtained during his past bounty hunter days. He obviously isn’t overly proud of it.

“Din - I won’t judge you for the things you did in the past,” I close the distance between us and placed a hand over his heart. “You had to survive.” My eyes shifted to his dark glass. “You have a truly kind heart beneath this armor. Nothing will change that,” I smile and he lowers his forehead to mine.

He looks over to the peaceful babe. _Perhaps he is kind deep down. Perhaps he will be a good father._

“Alright, let’s find this treasure!” I proclaim, throwing my fist in the air. 

Din breathily laughs, amused by my enthusiasm. He shifts over and reaches into his artillery, handing me a blaster and a vibroblade sabre. He grabs his usual assortment.

The ramp hisses opened and clatters on the stone. Warm, slightly humid air rushes in. Mossy terra fills my nostrils and sounds of chirping birds greets my ears.

We make our way down and our feet reaches the stone. As the ramp hisses closed, a large scarlet bird angrily swoops at Din’s head. He fires some warning shots to scare it away - a crowd of smaller birds erupts from the foliage above at the shots. It seems to have done the trick.

“Well, this is off to a good start,” I tease. “You said large predators, huh?”

“Yes, we need to be on alert.” Din’s serious tone sinks into my gut. “Stay close.” 

“How far is your buried treasure?” I ask, my eyes and ears shifting around as we enter the flowering brush. I notice some fluorescent orange flora, _Narajarro ispiens_ (colloquially known as orange death blossom). I used to study it while held captive by the Empire. They were obsessed with turning anything into weapons. It was a potent antagonistic neurotoxin that caused diaphragmatic and intercostal muscle paralysis as well as bradycardia - it could cause death in mere minutes, depending on the concentration, but only if ingested or injected.

“Hand me the sabre,” he gently orders and I hand it off. He activates the blade and swipes at the underbrush to clear our path, the smell of hot plant matter wafting.

“It’s about half a kilometer in this direction - under that stone arch,” he points up, and I see the top of a great mossy stone formation just through the breaks in trees. 

I put my hand on my blaster, just to be at the ready. I look around taking note of my surroundings - familiar blue and green flowers stare back amongst the more vibrant ruby reds and neon yellows. _I cannot recall its name…I had a feeling it was useful. But for what?_ I think for a few moments, but to no avail. _Oh, well…it will come to me eventually._

We draw closer and I can see the base of the arch. An eerily looming black cave entrance at the base comes into view. _Of course it’s in the creepy dark cave._

I follow close behind Din as we break into a small clearing just before the cave. I then hear brush rustling behind us. Din shifts, shielding me. I have my blaster aimed.

A large (me-sized), snow-white rabbit appears, munching on the underbrush. She could care less about our presence. 

I slowly lower my weapon and Din eases. We both chuckle as nerves wear off.

“A big scary bunny,” I snicker to Din. 

We turn and continue to the shadowy cave entrance. It smells damp and of fermenting guano. 

“How far inside?” I ask, not liking the idea of venturing inside one bit.

“Only about 15 meters,” he breathes. “It won’t take long.”

“I can stay guard here,” I suggest. “The bunny will keep me company.”

He stares with dark glass gleaming, thinking for a moment. “Fine. I’ll be quick…keep alert,” he orders.

He quickly slips into the darkness. I turn to watch the peaceful white rabbit forage at the ground, admiring her powerful hind legs. She seems to enjoy the clover flowers.

 _You haven’t a care in the world, do you? Not besides eating and finding fresh water. Well, and apparently running from large predators…_ Every lifeform has their own struggles, I muse.

I hear footsteps behind as Din reappears…empty-handed. 

“It’s gone,” he defeatedly monotones with head slightly hung. 

“Are you sure you have the correct creepy cave?” I try to lighten the mood. He remains silent. “Hey, it’s ok,” I place a hand on his now softened shoulder. “We can find a way to make more.”

Suddenly the large rabbit spooks, bounding off into the brush. 

Something whizzes from behind the stone arch and past my ear - it hits a nearby tree trunk. My eyes focus and I realize it’s a dart. Likely poison.

I turn to the arch and the underbrush on its periphery is rustling.

“Run!” Din shouts, grabbing my arm. He blasts a few rounds of plasma in its direction.

As we take off sprinting back toward our path, I can hear many small feet pattering behind. Darts whiz past, hitting underbrush. Din fires another round.

“I didn’t know there were natives near,” I gasp with hurried breath as we continue our frantic pace.

“They’re not friendly,” Din remarks, breathing heavily. “I might have shocked a few of them when they attacked my ship last time.”

“Din!” I scold.

“What? I shocked them - I didn’t kill them,” he says defensively through heavy breath.

“I don’t think they see it your way,” I retort.

Din fires a few more shots back. It’s answered with even more darts. _How many godsdamn darts did they have?_ Their sharp, clicking communications grow louder. 

We continue on our path and are almost back to the ship. The door is opening.

“Kriff,” Din mutters.

“What did you say?” I look over.

A dart is stuck in his back thigh. 

“Fuck,” I blurt.

“Yep, that’s what I said,” Din grimaces.

“You’ve been hit!” I clumsily reach and remove the dart as we continue our pace. My fears are confirmed, it’s stained orange. _It’s poison._ My blood runs cold.

The darts continue to whiz past, urging us faster toward the ship.

Then, overhead, the unmistakable high whir of a ship approaching fills the air.

Blaster fire impacts the stone ahead of us and then hits the brush behind, sending great hot clods of terra into the air. I hear the squabbling clicks and squeaks of the natives as they retreat.

A TIE fighter swoops.

_Fucking Imperials!_

“Din, the kid!” I scream and we bolt. 

_Fuck!_

“Din how are you feeling?” I ask, looking over to him, trying to assess his gait, which now seems less coordinated. “Din!” I shout as he suddenly collapses, about eight meters from the ramp.

“Protect the kid!” he raggedly breathes.

The TIE fighter is coming for another pass.

“Din!” Tears well hot in my eyes.

“The kid,” he struggles to breathe, dark glass pleading. 

Clods of terra are thrown in the air at the next volley of approaching fire. 

I painfully nod at Din, tears burning and force myself to turn.

The child is standing on the ramp. 

“Bean!” I shout, panic coursing as I run faster and faster to reach him. 

The plasma hits just behind me, and I can feel the impact on the stone. It causes me to lose my footing and I fall, eyes never leaving the child.

.

.

.

What happens next is in slow motion. 

.

.

.

The child lifts his small hand and swiftly sweeps upward. I hear a great explosion and the high-pitched scream of a falling aircraft. I watch as the smoking TIE fighter disappears overhead, snapping through the vines and branches and landing with a booming, fiery impact just around 20 meters away.

_What just happened?_

My ears start ringing as I force myself up and rush to the child; he promptly collapses. Immediately, I inspect him for injury and there is nothing physical to be found. He is merely drained from his act. 

“Thank you, kiddo,” I whisper, scooping him into my arms, holding him close.

 _Din!_ My heart panics and I turn. He’s laying face-down motionless on the stone.

I run with the sleeping babe in my arms, observing the charred marks on the stone - the TIE fighter’s shots had missed Din thankfully.

I reach his side and gently set the babe down.

“Din! Din! Can you hear me?” He doesn’t move or respond as I clumsily roll him to his back. I slip my hand under his cowl for a pulse. It’s there, but dangerously irregular and bradycardic (around 40-50 BPM). 

_Fuck!_ I need to find an antidote. I try to calm my nerves and focus. 

_There is a natural counter to the poison. Think Halarys! It’s found in the juice of a root. But what root?_

My mind is racing as I stare at Din, his pulse still holding.

 _Think…think!_ Zyanthium _something? No! That’s not it…_ Xanthimum….cara…Xanthimum caraspiens _root! Or frogrot blossoms! Yes, yes! Those were the green and blue blossoms I had noticed earlie but couldn’t recall!_

Din is still breathing, but barely - I can see he is using accessory muscles for breathing and judged his diaphragm is now paralyzed. I scoop up the babe and rush back to the ship. I place him quickly in his pod. I snatch a spare water canteen and bolt back to Din. He’s still breathing, but bradypniec (around 5-8 RPM). I snag one of Din’s blasters in case any natives wanted to tangle with me as I had dropped mine somewhere in the previous commotion.

I rush back toward the path, my eyes on the search for the blue and green blossoms. 

_FUCK!_

_Where did I see it?_

I come upon the area I thought I’d spotted it earlier. It is incinerated from the blaster cannon fire.

_Fuck!!_

I try to stay calm while my eyes scour the surrounding underbrush. The soil is moist here - it loved moisture.

_Think Halarys!_

_I swear it was in this area._ Then it hits me - the roots were always balled up into a knot-like structure. The roots might still be intact.

I get down and frantically dig in the charred terra. 

_Nothing._

I shift a little to the left, digging deeper and wider. 

_Nothing._

I shift upward, hands shoveling and sifting for any sign of the root system. 

_Nothing._

_Fuck!_

I take a deep breath, trying to focus my energy. I scan the terra again.

_And then I see it:_

A beautiful (half-charred) tangle of root, still half submerged in soil. I scramble over and snatch the priceless, dirt-encrusted gem. I scratch the surface - a stinky minty odor strikes my nose. 

_Yep, that’s it!_

I jump and run faster than I have ever run back to Din. I make through the clearing, but I can’t see him breathing. I race to his side, dropping to my knees and immediately reach for a pulse - a pulse that is barely there (20-25 BPM).

I work quickly to prep the root, dusting the excess dirt off. I rinse it and my hands well with the canteen water. I then take a large bite and chew the bitter mint into a puree. I spit the mixture into my hand, spitting out the excess to the ground as it’s also an epinephrine analog that excites cardiac muscle. I am excited enough.

 _FUCK._

I can’t remove his helm. He needs to take it sublingually in order for it to quickly absorb into his bloodstream. There is another route…but I don’t think he’d like that either…

I improvise and jimmy my hand with the slurry under his helm, thankful now more than ever for my small hands. I feel the stubble on his chin, followed by his soft lips. I clumsily work the paste into his mouth and under his tongue. I feel his teeth as I push around. I withdraw my hand and feel for a pulse. It’s even slower (10-15 BPM). 

_Fuck!_

“Din stay with me!” I yell at his stubborn metal head. His carotid pulse now falls still beneath my fingertips.

I work fast to detach his chest armor, placing my scanner. It does not detect any cardiac impulses. 

“Din, you are not dying from a damned dart, you hear me?” I shift, placing interlocked hands over his sternum and start compressions. I push hard and steady. I look at the scanner. No impulse. 

I keep compressions - _it would help the antidote circulate to counteract the poison paralyzing his cardiac tissue_.

“Din!” I never stop compressions, putting my full weight into it. I deeply regret my small size now more than ever.

“Din, please!” I scream at him, furious. Angry.

 _He is not allowed to die_.

It was going on two minutes now. No cardiac impulse.

“Din, dammit! Help me here!” I maintain compressions. Panic starts to grip me, but I brush it back. _I must remain focused._

No impulse detected.

“Din!” Tears start to brim my eyes. I breathe heavily, focused on only one thing: Getting his heart to beat again.

_The antidote has to kick in. It just has to work. It has to…_

It’s now approaching four minutes, my arms are impossibly burning and aching with lactic acid fatigue and threatening to cease working altogether at any moment. But I keep compressions, even as tears fall down my face, even though I feel as though I’m fighting a losing battle. 

I won’t let death win. _I won’t!_

I keep pumping on his chest, a slight crack of a rib likely breaking hits my ears - the sickening sound of compressions done properly. I maintain the rhythm, but nothing appears on the scanner.

_Am I too late?_

_._

_._

_._

_I am too late._

**.**

**.**

**.**

**No,** I reprimand myself. I continue, newfound energy filling me.

“Come on Din!” I order him, thrusting my palms at a steady, unforgiving pace. I feel another crack. I look at the scanner.

_Nothing._

.

.

.

“Please,” I beg. I can’t hold back my emotions, and tears fall to his breastplate. My arms tingle from exertion, almost numb.

“Please, Din. Come back to me.”

.

.

.

Suddenly a healthy sinus rhythm appears on my monitor: 42 BPM and steadily climbing. Relief washes over me and I immediately cease the barrage on his chest.

“Din!” I breathe, jostling his helmet to wake him. Five minutes was long, but he likely hadn’t suffered anoxic brain injury given the compressions. _I honestly would have kept going until my arms broke._

“Din!” I keep my annoying presence.

“Hhhmmmmm,” Din finally groans. _Thank gods!_

“Din,” I lift his torso into my arms and keep the scanner in place. “Can you hear me?” His breath and pulse are improving (10 RPM, 64 BPM).

“The kid ok?” he rasps, confirmation his neurological function is intact. 

“Din!” I hug his head. “I really thought I lost you this time,” I breathe with tears of relief gushing down my face. “Yes the kid saved us again. Blew up the TIE fighter.”

“He what?” His question is then distracted. “What is this bitter substance in my mouth?” he murmurs with disgust.

“Frogrot - the antidote to the poison,” I report. “It saved you.”

He reaches to his helm. His HR shoots to 96 BPM. I catch on.

“Don’t worry, your helm remained,” I reassure. “I just slipped the paste underneath,” I smile, holding up my shaking small hand.

He remains silent. I still couldn’t tell if my actions were acceptable, but he would have died otherwise. 

“It’s fine,” he monotones. His hand reaches to his aching chest. 

“Sorry, Din. I had to perform chest compressions for awhile. You lost a pulse,” I report - he very likely had broken ribs. 

He sits himself up, emitting a low groan from his helm. I scoop up my scanner and grab his chest piece. I help lift him to his feet.

“Hold this here,” I direct, placing the scanner over his sternum. “I need to monitor you.”

He obliges and holds it in place as I brace him to slowly walk back to the ship. His legs are weak and shaking with every step, but his vitals hold fairly stable (sinus rhythm, 62-85 BPM, 10-18 RPM, BP 93-105/62-82 mmHg). We finally reach the ship, shuffling up the ramp.

“Thanks, kid,” Din muffles to the sleeping babe. I direct him over to the bedroom. 

“You need to rest,” I order. “And drink water to flush the residual toxins out of your system.” I shove a giant canteen at him.

“Ok,” he monotones, sitting at the edge of the bed. He looks at me, dark glass glimmering. “Thank you, Halarys…for saving my life…again.”

I sit next to him. He’s still faithfully holding the scanner in place and I see his heart throw a PVC. 

“I will always try my best - but please stop trying to die, Mandalorian,” I weakly tease. My eyes shift to his dark glass. He meets my gaze. “I love you and we need you,” I confess looking at him and then to the resting babe.

Din’s head turns and looks downward. He is silent for a few beats. He takes in a deep breath.

“I saw my family,” he finally murmurs.

“What?” My curiosity is peaked.

“My parents - I saw them,” he lulls, his dark glass shifting to the wall. “They had been killed when I was a boy…by Separatist droids.” He takes a deep breath, head now hanging low and shoulders arched. “I never thought I’d see them again,” his head hangs lower.

“Din -,” I’m at a loss for words. I had figured he hadn’t exactly lived a happy life, but hearing him share the tragedy…something no child should _ever_ have to endure…it made my heart absolutely ache for him. My soul reaches to comfort him and I hold him close, wrapping his helm in my embrace. _I hadn’t known anything about his childhood other than the Mandalorian blanket.…to be honest, I don’t know much about him at all or any specific details of his past. However, I feel I know who he_ ** _is_** _. And I love that man._ I hold him tighter.

He breaks the silence. “The Imps - more will be coming.” His heart rate shoots to 98 BPM. He places the scanner on the bed and raises up, determined.

“Hey, where are you going?” I follow close behind as he makes his way outside to make sure he doesn’t fall. “You should really rest,” I insist. We circle around the ship.

“Din - you need to rest!” I exasperatedly order. Din suddenly stops.

“This is how they found us so quickly,” Din stares at the ship.

“What do you -,” I stop my thought as my eye catches a red blinking, black tracker device.

_They must have slipped it on at the child’s home planet._

Din quickly pries it off, tossing it to the stone ground and rapidly shoots it three times with his blaster.

“They have our exact location - we need to leave immediately before others arrive,” Din turns back to the ship, slightly stumbling and grabbing his aching ribs.

I rush to his side to help steady him. “Woah there - let’s take it a little slower.” 

“I’m fine,” he insists, stumbling again.

“No you are not,” we slowly make it up the ramp. The child remains asleep. “The neurotoxin is still wearing off.”

He ignores me. His dark glass gazes at the child. _How could he be so powerful? He brought down a TIE fighter?_ Din thinks, completely shocked and amazed.

The ramp hisses shut. Din gently pushes me off and makes his way up to the cockpit. I grab my scanner and follow behind. 

_Stubborn metal head._

He switches at all the buttons, the engines roar and we slowly ascend.

I lean over and place the scanner on his chest. Sinus rhythm, 85 BPM, 15 RPM. He is holding stable. I hover and scan his ribs - surprisingly only a couple small fractures to his VI left rib and V right rib. They were still likely painful, but nothing that required immediate treatment.

“Where are we to next?” I think better than to bother him with my medical diagnosis at this time as our prompt departure is more pressing at this moment. I watch as we break through the foliage of the towering trees and into the clouds.

“To help the kid with his powers,” Din answers somewhat nervously. 

The child indeed possesses great power. He could use someone to teach him - and us -about it.

“Where might that be?” I ask.

“I have some connections,” he ambiguously answers.

As we rise, the sky fades into the dark chasm of space.

White streaks stretch around us and we jump into hyperspace. 


	5. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode V: The Creature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din, Halarys, and the Child try to regroup on the Crest. 
> 
> A shorter read, but a good transition piece.

Din’s dark glass glints in the dim light of the cockpit. He stares straight ahead, seemingly in a deep trance of thought. I can’t help but think he is reminiscing about his time in death’s veil. My mind wanders to his confession of seeing his mother and father and how they were murdered by droids.

_My thoughts then drift to the memories of my own parents:_

_\-------------------------_

My mother was a very strong, wickedly smart woman with looks to match. I can remember her softly pale skin, long silver-blonde hair and piercing blue-green eyes - all traits she had given to me. She was a general surgeon who taught at the university hospital, and she had met my father during her medical residency. He was the lead mechanical engineer at the hospital who had repaired her favorite internal scanner after an angry Wookie had thrown it against a wall during an exam. The very same scanner she handed down to me - I always had her memory near. But a memory was all I would ever have.

She died when I was 16, during an Imperial battle. The Imps had recruited (rather forced) her services as a field surgeon - I remember the warm, salty taste of my tears as she was escorted by a stormtrooper (his name something Gideon) to the frontlines. My father had grown into an Imperialist sympathizer by sway of some of his close friends and didn’t even fight to keep her safe - I hated him for it. We never even had a body to bury.

But my father wasn’t always a misguided man. I remember rescuing injured racing windhounds from death at the local gambling track with him. My mother and I would nurse them back to health, and my father and I would find them loving homes.

However, we ended up keeping many. There was: Stina, a snow-white girl with a bright personality; Orka, a jet black hound with an adventurous side and taste for table scraps; Chey, a slightly shy, but playful pup; Beeth, a happy-go-lucky chestnut brown boy; Annaliah, a spunky tan girl always underfoot; Ragnar, a faithful grey boy who would keep the desert predators at bay; and Phoenix, a rusty red guy with a calm, cuddly demeanor. They were beautiful, gentle beings and my best friends growing up. I remember their long spindly legs, slender snouts, rabbit-like ears, slender waists, deep chests, and whip-like tails - a form that could run up to 115 kilometers per hour. We had our home on the outskirts of town which allowed for the hounds to run free.

When my father left his job at the hospital, we stopped rescuing the windhounds. He became entrenched in his contract work on battle droids for the Empire.

At 17, I went off to train more formally at the university hospital where my mother had taught - I needed time away from my father and I needed to feel more connected to my mother; the windhounds were the only living souls I truly missed. I worked hard and became a physician, specializing in cardiothoracics. I minored in herbalism as natural cures fascinated me. I sent letters every now and then to my father as a kind gesture, which was more than he deserved.

After 10 years of studying at the university, I finally came back to live at home as I had accepted a healer position at the clinic in our small town. It was going to be my stepping stone before moving onto to other places, but my father had other plans. Stormtroopers greeted my arrival, and a similar scene to that of 11 years earlier unfolded on our doorstep. My father had pawned me off to the Imperial army for a reward. The betrayal I felt eviscerated me as they dragged me away. I later found they shot him and stole the money back - it sickens me to admit, but part of me revels in the fact that he got what he deserved.

\------------------

“Halarys,” I feel a hand softly touch my shoulder. I meet Din’s dark glass.

“Huh?” I ask, snapping out of my thoughts.

“You looked deep in thought,” he leans in close. My eyes shift to his chest. “It didn’t seem happy,” he surmises.

I lift myself from the seat and carefully wrap my arms around his handsome form, thankful he is a good man. _He would never trade me for money - even though he had the opportunity_.

“How are you feeling?” I rest my head on his armorless chest. I can hear the soft thump of his heart quicken and skip.

He draws a sharp breath. “A little sore,” he confesses motioning to his chest. His fractures aren’t serious and a compression wrap would only increase his risk of pneumonia.

“You have some broken ribs - very small breaks, nothing serious. Compressions do that. I can inject some bacta into the fractures to heal them within a few hours,” I offer, gently glancing my hand over the injured areas. He shakes his head ‘no’, which doesn’t surprise me. _He’s hates needles._

“How about a bacta patch? It will heal you within a few days” I offer the other, less invasive but also slower treatment option. Honestly, the breaks would heal fine on their own, but could take a month or so if he forwent any treatment. But I don’t know if he wanted to be in pain for that long. I don’t know anyone who would.

“Fine,” he hushes gently, helm studying my movements. I reach in my bag and produce a couple patches. The bacta would slowly penetrate the tissue and hasten bone repair. Each pad is effective for up to a week, so a single application will definitely be sufficient to heal his small fractures.

“May I lift your shirt?” I ask, fingers grazing the hem.

He nods his permission.

I lift the shirt, forcing my gaze not to linger upon his bare, muscled torso. I scan the area again to pinpoint the damage and gently place the pads on each spot. Before I slip my scanner back into my bag, I take one more look at his vitals, which thankfully remain steady and then allow his shirt to fall. _I hadn’t needed to keep his shirt up for that last part (the scanner read vitals just fine through clothing) - oops._

He pulls me in for a hug, making me smile as he lets out a small, pained huff.

“Worth it,” he grunts, making me chuckle.

“I know it seems cruel, but you need to try to take deep breaths to keep your lungs healthy,” I prescribe, gently nuzzling his chest. He obeys and takes a deep breath. I can hear the slight shift from his fractured ribs. His heart pounds in response to the discomfort. I shift and look up to his helm. _Poor Din._ “If you’re in pain, I can scrounge some pain medication from your medical storage,” I offer.

“No, I will be fine,” his dark glass gazes in my eyes - he’s as stubborn as a blurrg, but just as tough.

“You should take a break from your chest piece when you don’t need it to allow for better chest expansion - at least for the next few days,” I advise, shifting from him to the ladder. My eyes again meet his visor, making me smile. His form is so soft and the look he gives so tender.

I shift my gaze down to the lower level and slowly make my way down. I approach the child’s pod to find him sleeping peacefully - his recent act was incredibly powerful and likely would drain him for awhile. _He’ll need a good meal once he wakes_ , I think.

My ears shift to Din’s soft footsteps padding down the ladder. My eyes meet his glinting glass as he slowly strides over. His gaze shifts to the sleeping babe, watching the gentle rise and fall of his little chest.

“You’re right,” I sigh. “He needs someone to teach him about his gift.” My eyes tenderly study the outline of his green ears and petite face. “I think it’s called the Force,” I share.

Din’s glass shifts to me. He keeps silent, waiting for me to elaborate.

“During my time with the Imps, I heard rumors of research on the Force,” I continue. “The child is sensitive to it. And I think I am as well.” As the words pass my lips, I feel a slight surge of energy. “I cannot explain it - it feels like a chill that makes hair stand on end, but also warm and relaxing in the next instant. I can only feel it - the child can channel it.” My hand reaches out to stroke the little one’s ear, causing a slight stir and ear to twitch.

“Could you feel the energy at the ruins?” I ask Din, my eyes now fixed on his dark glass. _Was I the only one who felt it?_

“No. I didn’t feel anything,” he breathes deeply, his shoulders tensing from the discomfort. “But I could tell it had an effect upon you and the child.” He reaches and gently grasps my shoulder, then looks to the child.

“The Jedi are all gone,” I soberly recall. _They were snuffed out by the Empire._

“They might be, but there are other Force-sensitive practitioners out there,” Din reveals. _He had known about the Force._

My eyes dance over the curves of his helm and then to the resting babe. _Perhaps there was someone out there who could teach him. But could we trust them?_

I feel Din’s gentle touch as he grabs my hand and guides me close. He was so irresistible. I press up firm against his torso, earning a hitched breath.

“I’m sorry Din,” I back up, gently rubbing his chest. My shoulder armor had gouged his sore breast.

He responds by pulling me back in. I am more careful this time to not squeeze his ribs. I can feel the heat of his passion rising. I reach to loosen my shoulder armor. 

_Dammit, why was mine so difficult?_

Din notices my struggle and looks at my face for permission to assist. I give a slight nod, not sure where this was going to lead, but shivering in the ecstasy of it.

I feel the light weight of one then the other shoulder pad lift, followed by the soft clunk of the pieces falling to the ship’s belly. I trace the outline of his clothed shoulders and tenderly peer into his glass. 

He then gently leads me over to his bedroom. _His bedroom._

 _I feel like I am floating._

We cross the threshold and he gently shuts the door behind us. It’s dimly lit, but I see his breath quicken and his throat nervously swallow. _I don’t think he quite knew what he was doing._

 _I will be patient._ I sit on the bed and work on removing the leg armor pieces.

 _Success!_ I finally work one off. It has a slightly different clasp attachment than his, but I have finally figured it out. I make faster work of the remaining pieces.

My eyes shift to Din, who is watching me from the corner, his dark glass staring.

I remove my chest piece. The form-fitting undercloth left nothing to the imagination. Din can’t help but take my vision in - he is more than happy to drown in it. It’s the best pain medication he’s ever had.

He averts his gaze when he finally notices I’m looking. I see his breath falter.

I blush, shifting the metal armor to the edge of the room, out of the way. I slowly rise and turn my back to him. I let my long, wavy hair down. He watches as it grazes just at the small of my back.

 _Damn,_ _I’m being really naughty…tempting the poor Mandalorian in such a way. But I think he needs some positive encouragement._

I look over my shoulder and sweetly smile.

Din’s posture suddenly becomes very tense and guarded. 

_Had I offended him? Was I moving too fast?_

“Din -”, I start trying to apologize, feeling like a grade-A fool.

“Don’t move,” Din sternly orders.

 _Oh…wow, that was authoritative._ I smile and shift a little at the dirty thought.

“I said stay still,” there is now a hint of panic in his voice, his hand now slowly reaching for his blaster.

“Din?” I ask, now feeling uneasiness bubbling in my gut. I slowly turn my head…

.

.

.

Then I see it: _A very large, dark shape in the upper corner of the room. It slowly extends five of its long sharp legs toward me._

I suddenly feel something grab my hand - reflexes take over and I scream and jump.

The large figure with numerous legs lunges at me. Din rushes, shielding me from the ravenous creature.

_What the hells?!_

He grabs it by a couple of its wickedly long legs twisting it and forcing it onto the bed, away from me.

“Run!” Din shouts over his struggle with the screeching beast. I see its two large, dripping fangs trying desperately to reach Din’s flesh. He struggles, fighting at its numerous legs that are now slipping free and grasping at him.

“Halarys, get out of here!” he orders, breath heavy, struggling to hold onto as many legs as he can. His blaster falls on the ground.

The creature’s trapped legs are now almost free and its fangs with large beads of venom are dangerously closing in on Din’s neck.

I quickly shift and snatch up the blaster.

I aim and empty two shots into its thorax. It shrieks in agony as its blue-green goo pours out and drenches the bed. _It died quickly._

My breath is heavy, arms still holding the blaster aimed at the arachnid-like creature. I’m now shaking with a bit of shock. 

_What in the fucking hells was that?!_

“Good shot,” Din compliments, wiping some of the goo spatter from his glass, then grabbing his throbbing ribs. He looks at the gooey mess and then to me. I slowly lower the weapon, now completely certain it was dead. I begin to laugh semi-hysterically.

“I guess that was one of the large predators you had been talking about earlier…,” I snort. _It must have slipped into the ship during my time trying to save Din. Then it hit me…it could have easily hurt the child._ My mind eases as I knew the babe was fine - _but it could have turned out much differently._ Din continues to wipe the goo from his armor.

“Well, this was not how I had pictured this evening going,” I smirk at him.

He lightly laughs, grabbing at his injured ribs which are sore from the recent exertion.

“Din,” I gently speak, reaching to his shoulder and looking into his dark glass. “Are you ok?” I look him over for other injury and feel at his neck and torso for punctures. _I don’t think it got him._

He gently reaches for my searching hands. I abandon my examination, losing myself in his glass. He directs my hands, placing them over his steadily-pounding heart, my eyes glancing over my hands on his chest and at his sweet affection. I shift my vision to his glimmering dark glass.

“Thank you for shielding me. I was almost a meal again,” I gratefully blush, referring to my brush with the amphibious beast a couple planets ago. He nods and loosens his pressure on my hands. I can feel his strong heartbeat beckon me again, but I gently slip my hands away before this would turn into something more intimate - the hot goo on the bed was somewhat of a mood-ruiner. I turn and open the door behind us, stepping out.

The babe is still resting despite all that raucous. _I wish I could sleep so soundly_ , I smile to myself, closing the distance and placing a kiss on the sweet child’s forehead.

I can feel the heat of Din approach behind me. I lean back into him, reveling in his presence and loyalty.

I turn and rest my cheek on his chest. The embrace feels much more natural with my armor off. I can hear his pulse quicken as my soft breasts rest on his unarmored belly. 

Din feels himself melt into my touch; he can’t help it. And he didn’t want to. _He has never allowed himself so close to another before - at least not emotionally._

Suddenly the ship lurches from hyperspace. Din’s strong, steady embrace keeps me from falling. _How did he anticipate that?_

“Thank you,” I smile, peering into his glass, now goo-free.

He leans and places his helm’s hard, cool Beskar forehead to my soft, warm skin. _His version of a kiss_ , I surmise. It makes me feel warmly loved to the very core of me.

His embrace loosens and I look again to the sleeping babe. 

_We’ve arrived and now it was time to find you a mentor._

Din starts back up toward the cockpit. I turn and pad up the ladder behind Din.

I stare out the ship at a molten, rocky world.

“Welcome to Nevarro,” Din muses; his posture lightens at the sight.

 _Nevarro?_ My mind wanders and sails high at what might be in store. I look over at my Mandalorian and smile. 

_I can’t help but feel a reunion was in store._


	6. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode VI: The Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The adventure continues on Nevarro. Things don't go so smoothly.

My gut bubbles with anticipation as the world comes into view. It only grows more grey and rocky save the occasional orangy-red rivers of hot lava which billow with steam. 

_Charming._ But it’s about what I’d expect from a bounty hunting hub.

I look to Din, his helm gleaming in the murky sunlight. He turns and looks to me - I take it as a smile. Then I notice his dark gaze drops from my eyes to my chest for a moment before he quickly averts his gaze .

 _Oh, that’s right - I’m a little under-dressed for the occasion._ I glance at the very form-fitting undercloth. 

“I’m going to get more appropriately outfitted,” I smile as I grab his shoulder from behind. I notice his respiratory rate is now quite flustered. I can’t resist to tease the poor Mandalorian just a bit. “Or, I maybe I don’t need to make a big fuss and stay as is,” I lowly purr in the side of his helm. 

_Damn, I’m being naughty, and I know it. I shouldn’t tease the sore, wounded bounty hunter in such a manner, but I can’t help but think what might have happened earlier if not interrupted by spider-zilla._

I watch his cowl swallow nervously as he thinks for a split moment. “Armor would be appropriate,” he mumbles, quickly breathing and keeping his eyes focused on a landing area. _His heart flutters as his mind wanders to my soft form._

“You’re so right,” I fervently agree as I pat his shoulder. I giggle as I make my way down the ladder, feeling the ship hover as we prepare to land. 

My indecent thoughts are broken when I see the child still resting - I slowly approach. _Exploding that TIE fighter really wore you out, huh?_ I tenderly stroke his adorable ear, watching the little rise and fall of his breath.

The ship connects with the rocky terra in a soft metallic crunch, notifying me of our landing. I quickly make my way to the bedroom. The gooey bed stares at me while I fumble with my armor pieces and I lightly laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation earlier. But then my mind wanders: _What if it had laid eggs somewhere in the ship?_ I shake away the shiver up my spine as I attach the final Beskar piece. The creeped-out feeling swiftly fades into that of pride, having attached all armor pieces on my own this time.

Turning, I notice Din attaching his own cuirass. He squarely gazes at me, more comfortable with my state of dress.

“How do I look?” I spin with my arms out, almost slipping on some of the goo. I laugh at myself. 

Din shakes his head and laughs slightly. “You look more like a bounty hunter and less like the entertainment.” 

I laugh at his quip and throw him a sideways glance.

He walks over to the babe who still rests comfortably. He taps the controls on his forearm and the pod closes to secure its precious cargo.

“I’ll have someone clean the bedroom,” he monotones as he glances over to gooey carcass.

 _Good idea, because I’m not going to do it_ , I think as I throw on my medic bag. 

The ramp hisses and steam from the hot ground wisps inside the ship’s belly. I can smell the faint sulfuric odor of the hot rock as I take a deep breath and cough. _Lovely._

Din looks and motions me to follow, the babe’s pod now hovering to follow by his side.

I slowly pad behind Din - my eyes shift to his helm and then to the hazy grey planet. We walk toward a small town - or rather what was left of it - about a hundred meters away. It appears to have been heavily damaged by some sort of battle I surmise.

“Is this a safe place?” I nervously ask Din, looking around and studying the surrounding rocks for signs of life.

“There are friends here,” Din reassures, continuing his march straight ahead - his shoulders appear more poised than usual as the closed pod hovers loyally by his side.

“How are your ribs?” I ask, keeping my eyes on alert.

“Feeling much better actually,” he responds, then briefly looks down to me. “Thank you.” His voice is kind and sincere, which makes me blush. I nod, glad the bacta is already doing its magic.

As we approach the small town’s alleyways, signs of life appear. There are vendors selling food and supplies. I see a blue Rodian bartering with a horned Iktochi over some mechanical parts. There are Twi’leks, some Trandoshans, a red Mon Calamari, a Verpine, and Jawas, amongst others.

Then a large Chistori bumps into me, almost sending me on my backside. _Fuck._

“Sorry.” I murmur, trying to shift past.

“What did you say?” the Chistori’s bends, his exceptionally rancid breath is now in my face and his teeth bare threateningly.

“I said watch where you’re going. And while you’re at it, brush your teeth,” I hiss, unable to hold my tongue back. _He was the one who bumped into me…plus he reminded me of the hot-headed thoracic attending who used to relentlessly criticize my (perfect) stitching technique._

The Chistori begins shaking in rage and roars in response. 

_Fuck._

“Do we have a problem here?” Din rumbles with blaster pointed right at its reptilian head. 

The Chistori suddenly turns and throws a punch at Din. The Mandalorian ducks and the punch lands soundly on a Trandoshan’s shoulder. 

_Oh shit._

The Trandoshan grumbles and slowly turns. Its eyes widen at the Chistori’s sight and it swiftly returns a clawed punch to the Chistori’s jaw, sending him backward. A fight between the two reptilian species starts.

I jump out of the way and over to Din, who still has his blaster aimed at the rude reptile.

“Let’s get out of here,” Din huffs, grabbing my hand and we continue at a faster pace, the pod hovering along. I turn to see the Chistori jump up and hurl himself at the Trandoshan, which sends him crashing through a Twi’lek merchant’s stand. A chain reaction ensues. A full-fledged brawl is now breaking out behind us.

“I thought you said you had friends here,” I hastily blurt at his metal head. 

“Try to stay out of trouble,” Din grumbles as we quicken our pace.

I huff a look a him. _This is a real family-friendly place._

We make our way to what looks like a saloon. The door slides open and we’re greeted by a Bith playing a flute. My eyes shift around as whispering glances from the petri dish of various life forms focuses on us. 

“Mando!” A booming voice sounds from across the bar. 

“You cleaned this place up,” Din’s glass shifts around lightheartedly. 

A middle-aged man walks toward us. He smiles at Din and the pod. Then his gaze shifts to me. 

“And who is this woman?” the man looks me up and down. _Suddenly, I remember I likely still have a bounty on my head. Fuck…great idea to agreeing to show myself in a hot-zone of bounty hunters._

“She’s with me,” Din quickly responds. “She saved my life…on more than one occasion,” he boasts.

“She’s not one to be underestimated, huh?” the man smirks, looking at me again. “Name’s Greef. Greef Karga,” his posture is now suddenly more forgiving, hand reaching out for a shake.

I reluctantly meet his hand with a firm grip. “You can can me Rys.” I give him my old nickname. _I think it’s best to keep my full identity on the down low for now. Din might trust Greef, but I definitely didn’t trust all these other bounty folk hanging around._

“Are you a Mandalorian too?” Greef questions, eyeing my armor as he motions us to join him at his table. 

“No,” I reply. “It’s more of a fashion statement, and also so my insides don’t spill on the outside.” 

Greef chuckles. 

We sit down in a booth and the pod hovers close to Din. The whispers and stares disperse as Greef glares around at the bar folk. He is obviously the head honcho here.

“Where’s Cara?” Din asks, looking around the bar.

“She’s on a bounty,” Greef admits, fidgeting with a drink and then taking a deep sip. 

Din stares at him, silent. I could sense some tension.

“She wanted to help make some money to fix this town up,” Greef continues. “She is quite talented and very capable.”

Din’s shoulders soften at the reminder. 

_Who is Cara?_ I feel a slight jealousy, but mostly intense curiosity. 

“So, what brings you back so soon, Mando?” Greef asks, his eyes studying Din’s helmet.

“We need help for the kid…his powers…they are becoming stronger,” Din cuts to the point, keeping his voice low.

“Is he ok?” Greef asks, now focusing on the pod.

“Yes, he’s fine. Just tired out from another…episode,” Din shifts his glass to the hovering pod. He turns, leaning toward Greef. “We need to find someone who is knowledgeable about the Force,” he quietly confesses.

“Like a Jedi?” Greef’s eyes widen and brows raise. He chuckles and shakes his head. “All Jedi were killed by the Empire. They are merely a story now.”

“Maybe you know someone who’s at least knowledgeable about such matters,” Din repeats, this time a little more demanding. “You _owe_ it to him.” 

_What did he mean by “owe”?_

Greef looks down, thinking for a beat. “Well, let me ask around,” Greef offers, looking Din dead in the glass. Din’s posture is defensive again. Greef notices and breathes, “I will be discrete. I will not mention the child.”

Greef’s eyes shift tenderly to the pod. _He seems to care about the child as well._

The cantina door hisses open.

“We need help!” a green female Twi’lek shouts. “Is anyone here a healer or medic?”

I shoot up from my seat. “Yes!” I reply, hand in the air as I rush over.

The Twi’lek is covered in blood.

“Are you injured?” My eyes scan her body for signs of a wound.

“No, it’s my partner,” she motions to a ship parked near, directly in the street, and I follow, feet hitting on the rocky ground. “She was stabbed by someone protecting our bounty,” she elaborates, voice shaking with panic.

Just as I’m about to enter the ship, I turn to glance back. I notice Din has stepped out with the child to keep watch on me. _He didn’t quite trust his town either._ I nod to him in reassurance and turn to the Twi’lek.

“Please,” she urges me to come inside. I pad up and my eyes catch a Delphidian female lying on a cot. She’s breathing heavily, her armor matted in red blood. There appears to be a stab wound in the LLQ of her abdomen. 

“I need to remove this armor,” I notify as I lean down to the Delphidian. “I’m a healer. My name is Rys. What’s yours?” 

“Gorshon,” she shakily replies, in intense pain from her wound.

“Ok Gorshon, I need you to help me get your armor off so I can treat your wound. Ok?” I look her in the eyes.

She feebly nods and attempts sitting upright. It gives me enough room to remove her leather and metal torso armor. I guide her to rest back down.

I roll her undershirt which reveals a nasty eight centimeter wide wound. I’m not as familiar with the nuances of Delphidian anatomy, but their circulatory systems and GI tracts are similar to humans. Grabbing my scanner from my bag, I hover over the wound.

“Will she be ok?” the Twi’lek hurriedly asks, her eyes wide with concern. My scanner shows a small and large bowel perforation - she is likely septic from bowel contents spilling into the peritoneal cavity as well as the filthy blade that caused the injury. Thankfully, no major lymph or blood vessels are involved and she appears euvolemic, if not slightly dehydrated from recent poor oral intake. She does, however, have a raging infection based on the fact her temperature, BP, and HR are all elevated 20-35% above the normal ranges for her species per reference information in the scanner.

“How long ago did this happen?” I ask the trembling Twi’lek, needing more information.

“Two days ago,” the Twi squeaks. The wound doesn’t appear treated at all.

“Did you do anything to dress the wound?” I prod further.

“I didn’t know she was this seriously injured,” her eyes start to well up with tears. “She said it was just a surface scratch.” The tears start to pour down her smooth green skin. “I found her passed out this morning and I noticed the wound was much worse than what she had let on.” She wipes away a few tears and catches her breath. “We didn’t have any bacta on board, so I flew here as fast as I could.” Her tears now turn to slight anger. “Stubborn Delphidian,” she hisses at my patient’s face.

“I’m sorry Qwal’tan,” the Delphidian rasps through her pain, breathing heavily, but managing a tender look in her eyes.

The Twi’lek forgives her with a tender caress on her face.

I look to the Twi and then to my patient. She was in critical condition, but vitals holding stable for now. I need to perform an abdominal washout to clear the bowel debris before bacta and stitching anything up. The Delphidian will need to be sedated. 

“I’m going to do everything I can to help her, but I need more supplies.” I look at both of them. They nod, giving me their complete trust. 

“I will be right back,” I assure. I run back out to Din.

“What’s going on?” Din breathes, his posture stiffened in warrior-mode.

“Injured middle-aged Delphidian female with stab wound to left lower quadrant and bowel perf,” I drabble in my medical lingo. “I need a sedative, at least a liter of sterile water, broad-spectrum antimicrobial bacta, and a suction device,” I quickly relay, my eyes impatiently coursing over his dark glass. My demands overwhelm him, as he remains silent trying to process my words. 

“Do you have medical supplies nearby? Your ship was dangerously low the last time I rummaged,” I look him in his glass, speaking more plainly.

“I think I can bring you some more materials,” he murmurs and prepares to turn in errand. I grab his wrist.

“I know what I need, let me come,” my eyes plead with urgency. _But something is off._ “Wait, where is the babe?” My eyes search the area for the pod.

“Greef is watching him,” he breathes. I look into his helm, my brow furrowed in concern. “We can trust him,” Din asserts. I’m still not fully convinced, but I tell myself to trust Din’s judgement. “Here follow me,” he changes the subject, grabbing my hand.

We turn down the street past a menagerie of vendors. I smell the savory scent of meat roasting above the hot rock, but I’m disturbed to find a Kowakian monkey-lizard roasting on a spit. _They are sentient._ My gut sinks. _Wow, this really is a family-friendly destination. I will address that disgrace later._

We turn to a nondescript building and Din holds back thick fabric covering an entrance. I look to him and enter the dark opening. He leads me down a curving staircase. At the bottom, a large, long room with sparse, hazy sunlight streaming through small windows greets us. _It’s eerily empty._

Despite the dimly lit ambiance, my eyes are drawn to a familiar image glinting down the hall- the same as on Din’s blanket and a trinket I’d seen in the babe’s robe. I surmise it’s a Beskar-forged skull of some sort of creature I couldn’t identify, but I understand it as a symbol for Mandalorians. 

_Is this his home?_

“I think we might have supplies over here,” he motions to a large armoire and quickly opens it. It breaks me from my thoughts.

“This lighting is crap,” I complain as I rush over and begin to rummage through the fairly decent supply. Suddenly a bright light shines on my hands, I turn to find the source is from the side of his helmet.

“I didn’t know you had a torch,” I tease at his novelty. I turn back to the supplies. _Yes!_ I find a liter of sterile water and hand it to him.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” his voice now suddenly mysterious. _His words ring true - there is so much I don’t know._

I locate the antimicrobial bacta and slip it into my bag - it is targeted toward translocated microbes and will treat Gorshon’s peritoneal infection. The general use bacta which I carried would help heal the wounded tissues.

_Now to find a sedative…_

_“_ I don’t suppose you know where the propofol would be?” I ask, expecting a very confused look.

“Propofol? Never heard of it,” Din breathes, confirming my suspicions.

 _Well this is going to suck for Gorshon_ , I think. But I can at least give her IV morphine which I quickly grab from the supply, along with a peripheral IV kit. I grab an all-purpose manual suction device as well. With that, I now have everything I need to make this work.

I glance to Din who’s now staring intensely down the hall toward the Beskar skull. I’m tempted to ask, as I’m fairly certain now that this is like a home to him and perhaps other Mandalorians, but time is short. 

“Thanks Din,” I grab the liter sterile water from him and head back to the ship.

His trance is broken and he follows behind. 

I work my way up to the street and quickly cross back over the rocky terrain and into the ship. Qwal’tan is leaning over her partner. She abruptly stands up when she hears my footsteps.

“She passed out,” tears roll down from her eyes.

I rush over to the Delphidian and hover my scanner. Cardiopulmonary function is still elevated above normal range, but fairly stable. I check her pupils which are responsive to the bright ship lights.

“You’re right, she’s just passed out. Likely from the pain,” I sanitize my hands and attempt to find a vein on the back of her hand, but her leathery skin makes it exceedingly difficult. “I need to place an IV so I can administer medication.” I explain to the tearful Twi’lek. _She might be passed out now, but once I start flushing the wound, she’ll likely awaken._ I tear a long shred from her shirt and tie a tourniquet around her arm. I wait a few moments and thankfully veins start to surface. I sanitize her skin and place the peripheral line with ease, taping it in place. Next I connect up the IV morphine and start it at a very slow drip.

“Here, Qwal’tan, please hold this here for me,” she looks and grabs the bag.

“Like this?” Her eyes seeking my approval.

“Yes, exactly like that,” I smile. I see the concern on her face. “She’s going to be ok,” I over-confidently report; her chances are quite good though. I begin to prepare the wound for washout and place the scanner on her chest to monitor her vitals. 

“We are new to the guild,” the Twi’lek breaks the silence. I spare a glance at her. “I told her this was a bad idea…but we needed money.” She leans to the Delphidian’s face and caresses her dark grey skin. “But she is stubborn.”

I open her stab wound and flush the sterile water inside. She doesn’t awake. _The morphine must be kicking in._

The Twi’lek focuses on my hands, but then looks away from the sight. “She saved me from a slave trade,” she tells. “I was to be sold into exotic dancing for rich Imperial pigs.” Her eyes narrow. 

“The male species can be quite horrible,” I remark, now switching to manual suction. I notice the Twi’lek look to her love. 

I work to pump as fast as I can and the tubing efficiently drains the bloody-brown intraperitoneal contents. I grab the scanner to verify the debris is clear and no other leakage is escaping from the nicked bowels. I shift the suction tip to a pocketed residual, and with that it looks clean. I introduce another bolus of sterile water just to be sure and quickly drain it away - the scanner confirms the peritoneum is now debris-free. 

I work and grab the antimicrobial bacta to lightly fill the peritoneum. Next I sanitize and thread my Besker needle.

“Can you hover the scanner here?” I ask Qwal’tan, holding out the scanner. She nods and grabs it with her free hand. “I need to visualize so I can throw a couple stitches into the cuts on her intestine,” I explain.

“Gorshon used to fight for the Republic,” she continues telling me her story. “She was on a covert mission passing through Coruscant when she saw me and some other girls in chains to be auctioned.” She smiles in reminiscence. “She couldn’t resist causing a diversion and freeing us.” She looks to the Delphidian’s face with warm regard. “I had been starved and was very weak, so she carried me away to her ship and nursed me back to health.” Tears form in her amber eyes. “We have been together ever since.” 

I give her a glance and smile at her words. My mind now shifts to Q’uijalah and how she had saved me. My eyes started to sting a little.

I reach and place the scanner to projection mode so I could better see; her vitals are slightly more elevated from previous, but acceptably stable. The nicked bowel is relatively proximal to the entrance wound and minimal digging will be required. I use the live-image to help guide my hands. My fingers isolate one of the perforations and maneuver it to the surface where I can better place stitches. I make 3 passes with the biofiber thread which approximate the perf adequately. I quickly work to locate the other two perforations which are a little larger and sew them up (taking five and six stitches respectively). Her vitals remain stable.

“How is it going?” Qwal’tan asks, diligently holding the scanner and morphine drip.

“Good. She’s doing really well.” I smile at her. “I just need to apply bacta and then close the tissue layers.” I explain. I’m not a GI or trauma surgeon, but I know enough to get the job done.

I introduce the general bacta to the peritoneum, which will heal the perforations fairly quickly. The scanner shows the bowel is healthily patent and not twisted. I work to close the peritoneum with half a dozen stitches, next the transversalis fascia, followed by abdominal muscles, then the superficial fascia and lastly her dark grey skin. With each layer I introduce both bactas to jumpstart healing and to treat and prevent further infection.

“All done.” I wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my forearm and glance at the scanner - her vitals have slightly improved. The Delphidian remains passed out, but that was likely for the best. I gently grab the scanner from Qwal’tan. “She’s going to be just fine,” I reassure with a warm smile.

The Twi’lek grins with tears in her amber eyes. “Thank you,” she murmurs to me and then shines her sight upon her love’s face, placing a tender kiss on the Delphidian’s lips.

I take the morphine bag from her other hand and clamp it off. Gorshon doesn’t need any more, and the bacta’s analgesic properties would have kicked in. I remove the tubing from her peripheral IV. Since she’s still passed out, I judge some normal saline wouldn’t hurt. Her blood composition is close enough to human that it would ameliorate her slight dehydration. I check her pupils and they are equal and reactive. The radial pulse is strong and I slip off one of her boots and pedal pulse was strong as well.

“I’ll be back with some fluids,” I smile at Qwal’tan, who still looks a bit concerned. “Once she wakes, she should drink some fluids such as water, broth or juice. She’s going to be just fine,” I reassure with a warm smile.

“Thank you!” the Twi’lek jumps up and hugs me, almost knocking the morphine out of my hands. 

“You’re welcome,” I slightly chuckle. Her embrace loosens and I turn to leave. The Twi’lek returns to her love’s side, tenderly stroking the Delphidian’s leathery cheek. 

I make my way outside and Din is standing only about five meters away. He walks toward me with speed.

“She’s going to be fine,” I report to Din. “I just need to grab a liter of saline.”

“I’m afraid you need to get out of sight,” Din orders, grabbing my arm, somewhat roughly.

“What? Din, what the hells?” I throw him a dagger look.

“I overheard some bounty hunters looking for a ‘Doctor Halarys Anavalin Ristania’,” he huffs. “I don’t suppose there are many other doctors named Halarys with a bounty on their head?” he asks rhetorically. 

_Fuck._

“I need to get my patient saline,” I urge. “You can follow with me the entire time and give me a weapon.” I stare at his dark glass, his grip on my arm unrelenting but now tender.

“No,” he makes up his mind. “I’m not risking it.”

 _Stubborn metal head._ The Delphidian would likely be fine without the saline, so long as she woke to drink within the next six or so hours.

“She’s over there!” A gravelly voice shouts from behind. I turn and a group of five armored hunters are approaching with weapons drawn.

In a blink, Din has his blaster aimed. “She’s my bounty to claim!” Din roughly jerks my arm to sell the point.

“Ow!” I gasp. _It kind of hurt._

“How about we split six-ways?” one of them lisps. 

“Yeah, we can have a little fun with her before we turn her in. We’ll even let you have the first go, Mandalorian,” another gutturally chuckles sending the rest laughing in response. 

“You couldn’t handle me,” I spit at them. I can feel Din now shaking with rage. He has a look of murder in his posture.

I look to him, “Din, no.” But just as I speak the words, he quickly shields me and shoots at the rapey bounty bunch. He strikes one down, but the rest return fire and scatter to make multiple targets and work to surround us. 

“She’s not yours!” Din yells, laser fire bouncing off his armor. He backs up nudging me along while looking for cover.

“Give me a weapon!” I shout to Din, but he’s too distracted by the blaster fire. His shot drops another.

“She’s only worth a quarter dead!” Din sneers at the remaining three.

 _That’s good to know,_ I think.

A shot knocks Din’s blaster from his hand and onto the ground. 

I take my chance and snatch it up, laser fire peppering my armor.

I aim at one, striking directly into his hand, he squeals in pain, writhing on the ground. I approach and snatch his blaster. 

_Now I can double fist these fuckers._

I turn and Din is taking on the remaining two in hand-to-hand combat with his vibroblade. I watch for a few seconds as Din somewhat struggles to kick their assess. His poor ribs are still on the mend. I shoot one of the hunters in the chink of his leg armor and he falls in agony. Din stabs the other in the gut and twists the knife for a death kill. 

Din then turns to me.

“Halarys! Watch-,” Din’s words are cut short. I feel a sharp, bright blow to my skull and a strong grip embraces me - the world suddenly snaps from its dull grey to a soundless, deep black abyss.


	7. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode VII: The Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halarys wakes to find herself in a difficult situation. What will happen to her and Din...and the Child?

An obnoxiously bright light stings my eyes and triggers a low moan from deep within my throat. As I move, a dull ache blossoms from the back of my skull to my forehead. I vaguely recall the fight on Nevarro with the rapey bounty bunch. But after that, I recall nothing. 

_Where am I? Where’s Din and the kid?_

My eyes refuse to open and I reach to feel my injury. 

_Fuck, I can’t move my arm._

I try my other, but the same. As my disorientation settles, I began to realize I am restrained, laying flat on my back against a slightly padded surface. I try harder, pulling and pushing, trying desperately to break free. I attempt kicking my legs. 

_Fuck. I’m completely restrained._

I struggle to force open my eyes against the blinding light. My head aches as I look around, but it’s too bright. I force my eyes open again, willing them to focus on anything, and this time my bleary vision is drawn to a dark figure looming a couple meters away. It’s blurry and the light glares any distinguishing features.

“Din?” I should have known better. 

“Hello Doctor Ristania,” the voice heralds in a vaguely familiar tone.

My eyes finally begin to adjust and I recognize the design features of the room in an instant. 

_Imperial._

“Goodbye,” I snark at him. I get the idea I’m not on a massage table. My eyes begin to adjust and his features gather into sharper focus. His dark grey outfit stinks of Imperial officer.

“But you just got here,” he smoothly speaks and steps a little closer. “I insist you stay.”

“I don’t seem to have much of a say in the matter,” I tense against the restraints. My eyes continue to adjust, studying his dark skin and short, slightly greying dark hair - he is a human.

“I need you to help me,” he comes closer. I can see his brown eyes focus on mine.

“I might be a little more agreeable if you remove my restraints,” I motion down with my eyes. “I’m not really that into bondage.”

He chuckles a little and looks at my wrists, seemingly considering my request. He then reaches and starts undoing the strap on my right hand. 

_What?_

“I will do as you ask,” he gently works on the other restraints.

I am confused and greatly distrusting of his false hospitality.

I glare at his face as he undoes the final strap. As soon as it releases its grip, I quickly sit up and reach to my head, feeling dried blood. My fingers trace the wound. _What are those? Stitches?_ I likely have a mild concussion judging from the dizziness and headache I was experiencing.

“I had one of our physicians take a look at your head wound,” he answers my puzzled look with a hint of concern. “You should be fine.”

“Well, you really shouldn’t have,” I groan with fake gratitude. I sit on the edge of the exam table. My eyes shift to him and if I wasn’t suffering from a traumatic brain injury, I swear he was staring at me like he’d seen a ghost.

I scout the room for anything that might be used as a weapon and then eye his waist for any blasters. But I’m too dizzy and weak to attempt a prison break at this time. However, that wouldn’t not stop a girl from trying.

“You look so much like her,” he breaks the silence.

Sharp claws tug at my diaphragm as his words echo in my aching head. My eyes shift to his face and narrow as I try to recognize his face. _Is this all a mind game?_

“Doctor Catalia Anavalin Ristania, your mother,” he speaks her name with what sounds like fondness.

_He knew her?_

“How did you know my mother?” My brow furrows.

“She saved my life,” he reminisces, looking past me and placing a hand to his sternum.

“And your fucking war took her’s,” tears brim in my eyes. I wanted to strangle him.

“She shouldn’t have died,” he seems genuinely upset over her memory. _Or he’s a very good actor._

“If you cared about my mother, you would let me go,” I test his true intentions.

He thinks for a couple moments, eyes searching at the floor. He then meets my gaze with a serious face. “I need your help,” he pleads with his brown eyes. 

“Yes, you already said that,” I impatiently huff. I had an idea with what he needed my help for.

“I need your help with locating the Child,” he bluntly speaks, eyes staring straight into mine. “It is very important.” 

_I knew it._

“I am very sorry, but to what child are you referring?” I feign any knowledge.

“He is a Child of the Force,” he elaborates. “I know you tried to save its mother.”

“You are the ones who killed her,” I take the bait.

His eyes study my face with tender thought. “You have a caring heart like your mother.”

“Stop acting like you knew her to win my trust. I’m never going to help you,” my voice grows hoarse and begins shaking. 

_Fuck, he was getting to me._

He studies my face and then looks to the ground. “I know you think you are protecting the Child…but you do not know its true potential.”

“I honestly don’t know the Child,” I try to keep my answers concise and vague.

He stands silent, almost hurt I wouldn’t trust him. Then his demeanor takes a 180 degree turn, his eyes staring cold and deeply. “No need for you to cooperate. I think your Mandalorian, Din Djarin, will be here soon enough,” he menacingly foreshadows.

 _He is a manipulative fucker._

I stand up and punch him in his smug face. My hand throbs as his lip bleeds. My breath grows heavy from the sudden exertion and rage rapidly boiling in my gut.

He smiles and brings his hand to his lip and wipes at the blood with a fingertip, studying the red fluid.

“You’re feisty like her too,” he laughs and turns to the corner, staring at the wall.

“What did you do to my mother, you Imperial fuckhead?” I imagine only horrible things, my anger about to incinerate any trace of him.

“Nothing,” he replies. “I knew her was all.” He grows vague. “You have her…well, charisma,” he softly chuckles.

I search around for a weapon, now that his back is turned, but nothing. Then I spot my medic bag. I slowly lower myself from the table and walk over, reaching inside, all while keeping an eye on him. 

He doesn’t turn. I feel around within, but there’s nothing useful unless he’s afraid of being scanned to death.

_Fuck._

“We can just wait here until your Mandalorian comes,” he confidently shares.

“I was simply a healer to the Mandalorian,” I say stoically, thinking of Din’s dark glass. “He won’t come for me,” I try to shake his confidence and convince myself Din wouldn’t try something so…metal-headed.

On cue the distant sound of blaster fire ricochets.

_Stubborn metalhead._

“Time for a reunion,” the officer speaks and turns to me. I punch at his face again but this time he ducks and grabs my wrists painfully. I’m still too weak to put up a good fight, so I go limp, making it as difficult as I can. “Time for us to go,” he grunts, roughly jerking my wrists, causing bruises, and just drags me along out the door and into the corridor. I can see the flashes of blaster fire growing brighter and a few stray trooper goons rush toward their doom.

_Din being here is exactly what he wants. I’m bait and this entire facility is a trap_

“Come get her Din!” he chides. 

“Din! It’s what he wants - it’s a trap!” my voice hoarsely shouts. I turn to the officer. “He’s going to end you,” I sneer up at the Imp. 

The plasma blasts abruptly cease. 

_Silence._

The officer stares in suspense.

Then the lights go black. Emergency lights kick on, casting a macabre red glow and dark shadows.

I struggle against his grip, but he’s too strong in comparison. He hoists me up to my feet and I hear the eerie buzzing crescendo of his sabre being drawn. He holds the dark glowing blade at my head.

“I’ll exchange her unharmed for the Child,” he shouts at the darkness.

Red plasma flashes in response, hitting a pipe. Steam violently rushes out, clouding any visual.

“Try something like that again, and she starts losing pieces,” his grip tightens and blade vibrates close to my ear.

“Gideon, let her go,” Din’s voice breaks through the shroud of steam.

_My heart stops at the name: Gideon. That was the name of the stormtrooper who had taken my mother to the frontlines around 13 years ago. That’s how he knew her._

Rage bolts through me and I jerk to tear into the fucker who’d led my mother to her death. But it’s in vain. I’m weakened and still suffering from imbalance. He easily overpowers me, grabbing my shoulder and forcing me down hard on my knees. He sweeps my hair to the side and grabs the bunch of it in his fingertips, yanking my head back painfully. The blade swiftly comes down and sharp pain erupts as he shears the tip of my ear off. I can’t hold back my cry of pain. Hot blood trickles down the side of my face. 

“Your Doctor isn’t behaving, so she lost a piece,” he reports at the steam, anticipating a response.

Suddenly a figure careens through the cloud and grabs Gideon, whose grip on me breaks. I crawl away from the scuffle, disoriented from pain and my still-aching head.

“She does what she wants,” Din growls. I turn and see Gideon crash his dark blade into the side of Din’s helmet. Din falls back aiming his smaller vibroblade at the officer. They circle each other.

“Give me the Child!” Gideon demands. He lunges at Din, but the Mandalorian evades and stabs his arm, earning a small cry of pain. 

Steam billows around, hazying their features.

“You’re not taking my foundling or my doctor,” Din turns and his blade is met with a buzzing clash from Gideon’s. 

Gideon deeply screams with anger, violently slashing at Din, sparking against his Beskar. They dance in the red, misty light, the blades crashing against one another. 

My head is beginning to spin from the quick movement. It seems dreamlike.

Then I watch in slow-motion as Gideon’s blade manages to slip past Din’s defense, and slices deeply across the side of his unarmored ribs.

“Nooo!” I reach out to Din and fall to the ground; my balance fails me.

Din’s helm emits a low, painful cry and he grasps his bleeding side. He keeps his blade pointed at Gideon. I hear his breathing became raspy and labored, his left lung was likely collapsed and he was suffering from a hemothorax.

Gideon turns his attention to me. “I will allow you to save him if you tell me where the Child is.” 

_I honestly don’t know where he is at the moment._

Gideon approaches Din and kicks the vibroblade from his hand. Din has lost a lot of blood and is too weak to resist. I can see his Beskar-covered chest heavily rise and fall for a satisfying breath that will not come. Gideon grabs his helmet, shifting aside the cowl’s fabric, exposing Din’s sweat-glistened neck. He holds the dark blade against Din’s throat, carefully nicking it and blood trickles down. 

“Doctor Ristania, tell me where the Child is,” the Imperial officer warns, slicing just a little deeper into Din’s exposed skin.

My rage comes to a breaking point. 

.

.

.

_I cannot explain exactly what is happening._

_._

_._

_._

Suddenly my senses begin to heighten, the room is less dark, everything is very clear and the ache in my head starts to fade. _I am completely focused._ A surge of energy flows over my skin and through my core. I reach and focus my rage at Gideon’s throat. He starts gasping and the crunching of cartilage is sickeningly audible. His grip loosens and the dark blade falls to the ground. Din falls to his hands, still gripping his bleeding side and drawing ragged breaths. 

Even though I make no physical contact, I swear I can feel Gideon’s neck tendons and flesh collapsing in my hand. _I think about my mother, my father, Din, and the Child. I think about Ziyain and Q’uijalah._ I scream as I throw my arm and slam the bastard against the wall with brutal force. He falls limp to the ground, my vengeance now fulfilled.

_I hope he is dead._

I start feeling weakened again, the room dims to its actual lighting, and the energy within fades. I notice Din is watching me, his dark glass glimmering in the faint, red light. 

_Did I hallucinate what just happened?_

“Din-,” I crawl over to him. He slowly attempts to stand and meet my side, but collapses back down.

“Halarys, are you ok?” he rasps through wet, labored breathing.

“Much better than you,” I ascertain. “I need to help you.” I continue to shuffle over to assess his wounds.

Suddenly I hear blaster fire and footsteps approaching from beyond the steam.

_Fuck._

They grow closer and I grab Din’s vibroblade, ready for the next trooper fucker coming our way.

A figure breaks through the stream and I strike at it. They block me with precision and roughly pin me to the ground. 

A woman with dark hair and blaster pointed at my head stares me in the face.

“Cara,” Din jaggedly breathes.

“You’re Cara?” I ask, surprised at our eventual meeting. _So this was the woman Din had mentioned in Nevarro._

She withdraws the blaster and helps me up. I’m still quite dizzy, and lose my balance a bit. She steadies me.

“And you must be Halarys,” she huffs, “the doctor Din insisted on rescuing.”

“Nice to meet you,” I force a smile. “Din is gravely injured. I can’t carry him myself.” I motion to the bleeding Mandalorian.

She shifts her eyes to Din and leaves my side.

“Come on Mando,” she reaches down, bringing him to his feet and forcing his arm over her shoulder to help brace him. He groans in protest. “And don’t give me any of that ‘let me die as a warrior nonsense’,” she preemptively warns. She looks down and her expression becomes concerned as she studies the blood coming from his side.

“We should move quickly,” I warn. I reach and grab Gideon’s dark sabre as my weapon. I snatch Din’s smaller blade as well. 

_Two blades were better than one?_ Then I feel I am forgetting something.

_Fuck._

“Wait - I need to grab my scanner. It’s just in this room,” I blurt at her, not expecting her to understand the importance. I walk over and the door won’t open. 

_Fuck._

I look around and spot the control panel. I slash at the interface with my new toy and sparks spatter. My hands push and force the door open a half meter. I slip through and spot my medic bag snatching it up. I pass back through the door, throwing my bag over my shoulder.

“Are you done?” Cara spits, Din braced on one side, a drawn blaster in her free hand.

“Yes. Let’s get out of here,” I spit back. 

_I like her already._

Din isn’t bleeding as heavily now, and he maintains pressure on his side. Although his breathing is still horrid, it sounds stable. I shift Din’s vibroblade into my bag, maintaining the new, larger one in my hand as I grab my scanner with the other. We head through the shroud of steam. I keep the dark blade pointed in front of me as we break through the clouded wall, covering Din from the other side.

“Doc, I don’t think now is the time for that,” Cara remarks, glancing at my scanner and then back down the corridor, ready to annihilate whatever comes our way.

“Keep moving,” I order. “I just need to know how serious his injury is.” 

_I know she cares about him._

She lets out a slightly irritated laugh. 

“She’s stubborn,” Din groans. Cara tosses him a grouchy, sympathetic look.

I keep my peripheral vision on edge as I view my scanner. His V-VII ribs are superficially gouged from the blade. The previous break in the area has started to heal. The blade appears to have slipped between the VI and VII intercostal space, slicing through his intercostal muscle and through his pleura. His lung is thankfully only partially-collapsed and appears intact and he indeed has a hemothorax. His cardiac preload is diminished by 8% of baseline, his BP is low at 78/50 mmHg, and HR high at 145 BPM - all suggestive of hypovolemia. His heart beats swiftly and strongly, but throws some PACs and PVCs at a 25% higher rate than his baseline, which I deduce is from the stress of blood loss. He remains in sinus rhythm despite the ectopy. I notice Cara peaks at my scanner.

“Kriff, is that his heart?” Cara scoffs rhetorically. “So you do have one,” she teases the Mandalorian. Din shakes his head slightly and his breath rattles. I half-grin at their dynamic.

 _He’ll need a chest tube to drain the hemothorax, a bacta infusion to his pleural space, and blood transfusion or lactated ringers._ I make my treatment plan in my head. 

“Din, how are you feeling?” I ask.

“Like I was stabbed by that thing,” he raspily gumbles, helmet motioning to the dark blade in my other hand.

He’s doing fairly well for the extent of his injuries. 

I shift my scanner to his pulsing, bloodied neck. The cut is nearing his external jugular vein; only 1 mm more and he would have been suffering much greater blood loss. It is a more superficial wound thankfully. I slip my scanner in my bag, satisfied he is relatively stable, although critical.

We continue on our way down the red, dimly lit corridor and hang a left down a random hall. We step over fallen stormtroopers, and wind down another hall. 

_This seems too easy._

One of the downed troopers shifts ahead and blaster fire flashes toward us. Cara quickly and efficiently shoots him dead.

Now heavy mechanical steps sound down the hall. 

“Droids,” Din croaks.

_Fuck._

“Here,” Cara points us to another hallway. We shuffle down, and press against the wall.

We’re all quiet, but the hum of the dark blade suddenly seems loud and a beacon for the droid.

“Can you quiet that damn thing?” Cara impatiently whispers, shooting me an exasperated look.

“It didn’t exactly come with instructions,” I quip as I desperately grip and prod at the handle. It surges even louder and brighter. The heavy mechanical steps grow more determined in our direction.

_Fuck!_

Cara shoots me a pissed look. “Give it to me.” She sets Din down and reaches for it.

“No, I got it,” yanking it out of her grabbing-range.

“Shhhh,” Din shushes us both.

Too late - the giant droid appears around the corner.

“Surrender! Put your weapons down!” its deeply creepy mechanical voice orders. I instantly recognize it as a model my father had worked upon. 

“As engineer Iltono Ristania, I order you to stand down,” I loudly direct, desperately hoping my father’s coding was somehow still integrated. He had liked having a fail-safe in his creations. 

The droid thinks for a couple moments, computing the validity of my request.

“Request denied,” it coldly buzzes and a blaster head emerges from the compartment in its shoulder.

“Fuck,” I duck the fire. Cara shoots at its head, drawing its murderous attention. 

I swiftly run at the battle droid, blade drawn. Cara keeps its focus on her by peppering it with shots. I turn past it and crash my blade against the powercore in its back. It sputters and reels, shooting plasma sporadically around the corridor. Cara keeps shooting at its head. I strike it again in its back. 

Its body falls with a metallic crunch on the floor.

_At least I learned something useful from my father: The critical areas on Imperial droids._

“Nice moves,” Cara compliments, almost smiling.

“If the healer thing doesn’t pan out, I’m considering gun-for-hire,” I lamely joke.

I look to Din waiting for a laugh or any response.

“Din?” Panic bubbles in my gut and I return to physician-mode, rushing to his side. “Din?” I grab his helm and jostle it a bit. “Din, can you hear me?”

_No response._

_Fuck._

I grab my scanner and check his vitals.

“What’s going on?” Cara demands, very concerned over her friend.

“He passed out,” I report. His cardiac preload diminished from 8% to 12% now, BP 70/45 mmHg, pulse 156 BPM, spO2 80%, but still sinus rhythm. “He’s bleeding again. We need to get him out of here _now_.” I look at her, judging this isn’t the time or place for me to try to start major medical procedures. I also didn’t have the necessary supplies.

She doesn’t hesitate and gently lifts him. I shift in to grab his wounded side and force his limp arm over my shoulder. 

With the passed-out, bleeding Mandalorian between us, Cara with her blaster at the ready and my buzzing sabre drawn, we resume shuffling over the dead troopers.

“This way,” she leads. We twist down some corridors. I slip my fingers under Din’s glove to his wrist, finding his pulse is rapid and thready, but fairly stable.

“It’s not far now,” Cara reports.

More heavy footsteps sound and we shuffle to a nook. 

_Fuck._

The footsteps grow louder and closer. Anxiety curdles my stomach.

The footsteps hesitate. I still can’t control the blade. I hope we are far enough away it can’t sense it.

The footsteps start again toward our hiding spot. Cara has her blaster at the ready.

Then a noise sounds down the opposite hall. Its footsteps halt and it turns to investigate the noise.

We both exhale as the footsteps decrescendo. I quickly scan Din’s side. Cardiac preload was now diminished by 13%, BP 68/43 mmHg, HR 158 BPM, spO2 79%. He’s slightly worse, but fairly stable with all things considered. He needs medical attention within the next half hour, I judge based on the current rate of deterioration.

The footsteps continue on down the hallway. I look at Cara. She nods. We both hoist our Beskar friend, positioning his arms over our shoulders.

We continue our shuffle, and the exit door is now in sight. We can no longer hear the droid’s footsteps. Cara and I look both ways to make sure is was clear. Satisfied, we continue and reach the exit, hoping it will automatically open from the inside.

_It doesn’t open._

I look around the perimeter and spot the control panel. 

“You got him?” I ask Cara as I shift my share of Din’s weight to her. She nods. I rush over and slash the panel into a sparking tangle of wires.

I grab the door. This one was larger and more stubborn. I push with all my weight and it shifts a few centimeters. 

Metal footsteps come into earshot again.

_Fuck._

Cara shifts over and helps me pull the door open about half a meter.

The heavy metallic steps grow louder.

“Surrender!” the droid orders in a cold, robotic voice.

_Fuck._

Cara looks at me and I nod. She slips Din out the door as carefully as she can to the rocky ground. 

_Poor Din._

She feigns surrender, her hands above her head. I look at her and follow her lead. 

The droid draws closer.

“Drop your weapons!” it demands.

We look at each other. She nods and begins to lower her weapon. Then in a blink she fires the blaster at its head and I rush in and aim at this model’s under side - its central processing unit fittingly located in its ass.

The dark blade screams against its metal as I slide underneath delivering the fatal blow. 

The droid falls with a great crash. I turn, satisfied it’s disabled and return to her side.

“Thanks for distracting it,” I nod at Cara.

“You’re right - if the doctor thing gets boring, you’d make a fine mercenary,” she smiles, slightly impressed. “Now let’s get the fuck out of this Imp camp.”

We head back to the door and again pick up Din’s limp form. I scan his side again and his vitals are stable from prior (albeit in the dump).

“The Razor Crest is over there, behind the rocky ridge,” she points to a large rocky area about 15 meters ahead of us. “How is he?” she asks, looking at my scanner.

“He’s seriously injured but holding steady for now,” I relay. “I’m going to need your assistance grabbing supplies and positioning him.” I prepare her for the medical procedures that lie ahead.

She gives me a confused look, but then looks to Din. “I can try.” She cares for her Mandalorian friend.

“Thank you, Cara,” I smile. “Thank you for helping save Din and me.”

“I have a soft spot for the metalhead and his kid,” she smirks.

We turn a large boulder and there the ship is. Its ramp faithfully hisses open.

We shuffle Din up the ship and set him on his now goo-free bed. _Thank gods he had it cleaned._

As the door hisses shut, blaster fire echoes against the hull.

_We hadn’t killed them all yet?_

“I’m going to get us out of here,” Cara swiftly makes her way up the ladder to the cockpit. The shots continue to pepper the hull.

I work fast to grab the supplies. I’ll be on my own for now. 

The engines roar to life and I feel the heavy weight of quick acceleration.

I stumble over to the medical chest and grab LR, a peripheral IV kit, a handful of syringes, a manual suction, a small catheter that would have to work as a chest tube for now, antimicrobial wash, more bacta, and dressings. His overall medical supply is getting really low, but I have enough to complete my current task.

The ship jerks and shudders, causing us to drop a few meters in altitude. I fall on my backside.

“We got a TIE fighter on our ass,” Cara shouts from above.

“Can you shake him?!” I shout back, trying to get to my feet, supplies still in hand.

“Just hold onto something, doctor!” she yells.

I can feel the ship maneuver and duck to evade the fighter’s blasts _. She seems to have military training_ , I guess. 

I quickly stumble back to Din.

The ship jerks as we take more fire.

“Cara, I need you to get us out of here now!” I order impatiently.

“Working on it!” she shouts back.

I look to Din. _Hang in there you stubborn metalhead._

I need access to his chest. I remove his Beskar chest plate and rip his heavily blood-soaked undercloth to expose the large wound. The bacta patches are still in place, although one was slashed. It likely helped prevent the bleeding from being worse.

The ship dives and swerves, making me land atop Din. 

_Sorry._

“Cara!” I shout impatiently.

“Entering hyperspace in three…two…one!” she warns at the top of her lungs.

I brace myself and Din as the ship jumps and trajectory stabilizes.

_Finally._

Din needs vascular access now, so I remove his glove and work to find a vein. Despite his blood loss, his veins are still visible without a tourniquet. I quickly locate a good one, sanitize the area along with my hands, and place the IV access, taping it in place.

Cara appears around the corner.

“Tell me what I can do,” she speaks, looking at me and then to Din, eyes wide with concern.

I work to hang up the LR and attach the line to his IV.

“Once I get this going, I’m going to need you to help me shift him onto his right side so I can better place a chest tube.” 

She steps into the small room and onto the bed in preparation for the next steps.

I set the LR liter to a steady drip. I place the scanner on his chest and his cardiac preload is now diminished to 14%, BP 65/40 mmHg, HR 162 BPM, spO2 80%, thankfully sinus rhythm still. 

She watches the monitor. “At least his stubborn Mandalorian heart is still beating,” she smirks.

I smile at her comment and snatch the scanner from his sternum.

“We’re going to roll him onto his side toward you,” I direct, shifting my hands under his back. Cara follows my lead and hoists him over on his right side, keeping him propped up. This position allowed his ribs to be spaced just a little farther apart so I had better access.

I remove the old bacta patch and pour antimicrobial solution all along the nasty cut wound. I estimate the slash is around 15 centimeters, angled along his rib cage, and I can see where the blade had sliced intercostally - this is where I would insert the chest tube.

“Hold this here,” I direct her, hovering the scanner above his chest and setting it to projection mode. “And try to hold him steady.”

I grab the tubing (more fit for a urinary catheter, but it would do) and douse it with the antimicrobial solution. 

“Alright Din, you might feel this,” I admit as I line the tip with the deepest part of his wound. I reference the scanner and plunge it deep so the tip aligns with the blood pocket keeping his lung partially-collapsed.

“Kriff,” Din moans under his helm. His thick, red blood spurts and pours from the catheter as anticipated into the wad of gauze I hold. Cara’s jaw drops at the sight.

“Sorry Din,” I apologize. _He is awake now._

“This is good,” I glance at her, referring to the blood gushing from the tube. “It’s relieving the pressure like it should.”

Her expression slightly softens. She looks to Din’s dark glass.

“We can rest him on his back now,” I direct Cara. “Din, how are you doing?” I ask.

“Better now that I can see your face,” he painfully breathes, head tenderly turning to me. I smile at his glass. Cara rolls her eyes slightly but cracks a half smile.

From this position, gravity will help drain some more of the blood. I grab the scanner from Cara and place it on his sternum. Cardiac preload is improved, only diminished by 10% now, BP 73/48 mmHg, spO2 now improved to 92%, HR 142 BPM, sinus rhythm. We still had some work to do.

His lung remains partially-collapsed despite the thoracentesis. I hover the scanner above the wound and determine only 10 mL of blood remains. I hook a manual suction to the tube. I watch the scanner as the remainder of blood drains. No active bleeding is visualized. I detach the suction and using a syringe, I draw up a mixture of antibiotic bacta and general bacta. I inject the mixture through the chest tube to the pleural space.

Din’s breath hitches in pain.

“Sorry,” I apologize, not shifting my eyes from his ribs. 

_Fuck, the hemothorax was now a pneumothorax - I’d have to complete an extra step._

“You’re being a real tough Mandalorian right now,” Cara teases.

Din’s helm faintly grumbles.

“I need to reinflate your lung next,” I report as I yank the tube from his ribs. 

“Kriff Halarys!” he yelps.

“Hey, you remember my name,” I smile. _Neuro status definitely intact,_ I note. _I could have given him pain medicine (extra morphine in my bag) but I judge he is fine._

“Do you remember mine?” Cara gets in on the action.

“Of course…Carasynthia Dune…ex-rebel,” Din chides back at her through gravelly, difficult breath, earning a half smile from the woman.

 _I need to create a one-way valve so air can escape to allow his lung to expand fully._ I eye the flat backing to the peripheral IV kit. _That will work nicely._ I wipe his wound dry and with the excess tape from the IV kit, adhere three sides of the flat packaging to the opening in his chest. _One-way flap created._

“Take deep breaths,” I order Din. The excess fluid and air escapes through the opened side of the flap and seals between breaths so his lung can reinflate. I watch the scanner image confirm his lung is now fully inflated. His spO2 now improved to 98%, cardiac preload only reduced by 6%, HR 121 BPM, BP 81/65 mmHg. 

“Din, I’m going to inject some bacta near the membrane around your lung,” I feel him tense. _He really doesn’t like needles._

I work to inject some more bacta near the cut in his pleural membrane so a pneumothorax doesn’t reform. His breath hitches and HR spikes to 140 BPM. I reference the scanner and inject near the worst damage, as well as near his recent rib fracture to help that heal more quickly.Stitching this in its current state will be impossible, so I decide to wait a minute or so for the bacta to kick in.

“Where’s the babe?” I ask Din. Cara smiles at me.

“Greef Karga,” Din grunts.

My brow furrows slightly. Cara notices.

“Greef is actually ok,” she reassures. “He owes the kid his life…and he also adores the little green monster.” 

My face grows less tense. _I guess I’d have to get used to Greef around the kid._

“Where are we headed?” I ask Cara, looking her in the eyes. _Please, don’t say fucking Nevarro._

“Deridian X-9. A very small planet, very far away,” she reassures. “That’s where Greef’s hiding out with the kid.”

 _Thank gods._ I nod to Cara in relief, taking a deep breath. My eyes shift to the scanner.

“Alright Din, now time to stitch up that intercostal muscle,” I chime as I study the image, determining the pleural membrane is now healed enough for me to remove the improvised valve.

I swear I can see an eye roll from his helm. He grumbles a little. _Yes, more needling._

I thread my Beskar needle with biofiber thread, pouring sanitizing solution over it as well as the wound. I begin on the muscle layer, approximating it with 12 stitches. I introduce bacta to the layer. Next I work to stitch the skin. Din’s vitals keep improving: spO2 99%, BP 102/78 mmHg, HR 104 BPM, cardiac preload now only reduced by 3%. The bacta that inadvertantly enters his bloodstream will help him regenerate RBCs as well.

_He’s out of the woods._

“I think my assistance is no longer required,” Cara notices as I stitch his chest wound closed (45 stitches for the entire length of the wound). 

“Thank you, Cara,” Din breathes, grabbing her arm. She smiles at his helm.

“Of course, Mando,” she pats his shoulder and shifts off the bed.

“Yes, thanks Cara,” I look to her. “You really saved us both.”

“You did at least half of the work,” she smiles at me and turns to head back to the cockpit.

I smile at Din’s Beskar helmet.

“You could have told me about how awesome your friend is,” I smile, playfully pawing at his shoulder.

“Cara is…something else,” he breathes. My eyes shoot him a look and I smile. _I can tell she is a great friend._

I apply bacta to the stitched chest wound and place a clean dressing over it. My fingers linger just a bit. I can feel his ribs expand and contract and his warmth. 

_He is alive._

I shift my focus to his neck wound. I lift his fabric out of the way and pour antimicrobial solution over it. He nervously swallows as I prepare my needle. 

“So, thank you for attempting to rescue me,” I tease, trying to distract him from the needle so close to his helmed face. I start to approximate the wound. I can see and feel his now stronger pulse quicken under my fingertips.

“I saw what you did to Gideon,” he almost whispers.

 _He did see_ …my heart sinks. _I really don’t know what happened. Or how I did it. Was it even me?_

“Din - I don’t know what happened,” I take a deep breath and continue stitching.

His dark glass focuses on my face. His hand reaches to my ear.

“Halarys-,” he sympathetically strokes my blood-stained cheek.

“It’s just a small piece of flesh.” The tip of an ear was a small price to pay to have choked my mother’s murderer. “Nothing bacta can’t fix.” It won’t regenerate, but it would heal the wound.

I spray bacta on his neck wound and dress it as well. His hand reaches to mine.

I look him in the glass as it glimmers in the ship’s lights. 

He guides my hand and rests it over his heart, his sweet way of showing affection. _The kind heart of a Mandalorian._ I can feel his heart thumping strong beneath my fingertips; a shade of rose fleshes my cheeks at the affection. I lean in and rest my forehead on his Beskar. 

_I love you._

“I love you, you stubborn womp rat,” Din murmurs in a lighthearted tone.

I chuckle at the sentiment, but it warms me to the core.

“Woah, sorry…,” Cara’s voice suddenly appears. I turn as she slips around the corner, out of sight. “We should arrive in a half hour or so. Enough time to finish whatever the kriff it is you’re doing,” she shouts.

Din and I chuckle. I kiss his heart. 

“You need nutrition,” I prescribe. He grumbles in slight protest.

I jump up and start over to the food synthesizer. I stare at a cup. As a semi-joke, I extend my arm out and try to focus my energy to lift it without touch.

_Nothing._

_How ridiculous Halarys_ , I laugh at myself, arm still point at it.

.

.

.

It lifts a centimeter for a beat, then falls.

.

.

.

_Oh fuck._


	8. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode VIII: Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Halarys regroup as Cara navigates the Razor Crest to a distant planet in order to reunite with the Child.
> 
> Another transition piece - I hope you enjoy (:

“You ok?” Din’s voice sounds from the bedroom.

My hand remains outstretched and the glass a half meter away as he peeks around the corner, holding his ribs. I swiftly drop my arm to my side, trying to act casual. But the shocked look on my face only incriminates me. 

“Just dropped a cup.” _I wasn’t exactly lying._

“Halarys?” Din’s voice falters. “Did you just…?” his dark glass sends an expression of shock.

_He knows._

“I don’t know how I did it,” I confess, looking at the glass.

“What’s going on down there?” Cara shouts from the cockpit. A beat passes. “Or maybe I don’t want to know.” She finishes her thought.

I shoot Din a dagger look before he says anything.

“Nothing…just preparing some sustenance,” I yell to the upper level. “Are you hungry?” I shout to her, looking at Din with my mouth agape and shrugging my shoulders.

“If you have Spotchka programmed, I’d take some…oh,” she thinks for a moment. “But I’m piloting so on second thought I’ll pass.” She seems a little dejected she can’t indulge. 

_She probably needed some alcohol to forget the image of Din and I being affectionate._ I laugh at the thought.

Din disappears back into the bedroom for a moment then reappears holding the now half-empty LR IV bag.

“Din!” I scold him. “You should be in bed resting.” He continues on over anyway.

 _Stubborn metalhead_. I rush to meet his side in case he loses his balance.

“Halarys, I think we should talk about,” he looks to the upper level and lowers his voice, “your newfound talent.” His visor gently studies my face.

“There’s not much to talk about…I merely strangled a sociopathic Imperial bastard and dropped a cup,” I say plainly, attempting my best to downplay the situation. 

_I hate to admit to myself, but I’m downright terrified. I don’t know how to control it or why I can suddenly tap into this energy…the Force. It feels like playing with a bonfire in a storehouse of oxygen tanks._

Din gently grabs my hand with his free one. I look to his touch and instantly feel some of my panicked fear dissipate through my exhalation.

“Halarys,” he calmly speaks. My gaze shifts from his hand to his glass, which now has the most gentle sheen. “We are going to figure this out together.” He brings my hand again to his chest, the rapid pounding of his heart throbs against my palm. 

_He seems nervous. Does my touch scare him? What if I accidentally harm him?_

I start to pull my hand away for fear I might inadvertently crush his lungs or stop his heart. 

But he tenderly stops my hand and steps closer, wrapping his arms around me.

“You don’t scare me, Halarys,” he speaks confidently and truthfully. I feel his warm breath escape from under his helm as his heart beats vulnerably and trustingly beneath my hand. “You’re still the kind healer I first met on Fara.” 

A warm smile breaks on my face at the memory.

“And you’re still the same stubborn Mandalorian warrior,” I mutter, looking into his dark glass.

“I would argue,” he stoops to press his helm’s forehead to mine.

“Yeah?” I quirk a brow.

“I’m a much happier Mandalorian now,” he lowly purrs, pulling me in for a full body hug, making me giggle. I’m careful to avoid his injuries.

“Woah - sorry again!” Cara’s voice resounds from the ladder. She is already making her way back up to the cockpit. “Twenty minutes and we’ll arrive,” she reports.

Din laughs lightly and I snort like a pregnant bantha on a hot summer day. My laughing fit fades and I look tenderly at the dark glass.

“Thanks Din,” I say softly, leaning in again and hugging him gently. He wraps his arms around me and I gently rest my good ear on his left upper chest. His left lung inhales and exhales without any evidence of the recent injury. My ear trains in on his heartbeat, which remains somewhat rapid, but steady - save a PVC or two. _I figured out by now I make his heart skip and that made mine melt._

We loosen our embrace and I shift to dietitian-mode. 

“Time for a sixteen ounce high calorie, high protein shake,” I smile to Din. He shakes his head lightly and laughs.

I grab the cup (not attempting my new…ability this time), and plug at the selection menu to make a Hwotha berry bantha milk-concentrate smoothie.

It spits out a thick, dark purple-grey liquid that actually smells pretty good. 

I insert a straw and hand it to my Mandalorian patient, who is watching my every move.

“Thank you, doctor,” his Beskar helmet playfully murmurs at me. A smile cracks on my face at the title. _He hasn’t called me that before._

“Well, Mr. Djarin,” I recall Gideon had shared his last name, “let’s have you sit back down, at least until we land. Doctor’s orders,” I grin as I pluck the LR from his grip and guide him back to the small bedroom by his wrist.

I hang the three-eighths full LR on a pipe as Din sits on the bed’s edge, almost done with his meal replacement. A smile grows on my lips as I study the straw shimmied up into his helmet. _I never found it that funny until now._

“When’s the last time you had solid food?” I can’t resist asking the question.

He comically slurps the rest of the purply sludge and I reach to take the empty glass. “About two weeks ago,” he gingerly stretches his arms, taking a shallow yawning breath due to his wounded ribs. He then shifts to rest flat on his back, hands behind his helm. “Only since you’ve been taking up camp in my ship,” he teases me from his unknowingly seductive position. 

_Or does he know he’s being real cute?_

I raise an eyebrow and send him a smirk, absently fidgeting a little with the empty cup and straw.

“You’re very dedicated to _‘The Way_ ’,” I smile gently at him. “One of the many qualities I love and respect about you.” _I decided long ago that I will never ask him to remove his helmet. Of course I’m curious as to what facial expressions he’s always making at me under there (and the color of his eyes and undoubtedly sweet softness of his lips on mine…but I digress). Removing his helm is his decision. But a girl could imagine…_

“Halarys,” Din breaks my thought. 

“Huh? Oh…,” I try to gather a cover story. “I was definitely not just daydreaming about using the Force to fly.” My mind wanders again as I trace the place where his lips had been upon the straw. His lips. My fingers had touched those lips and his rough stubble when I had to deliver the cure to the poison dart. _At the time I hadn’t allowed myself to think that way, but in hindsight…well, yeah…let’s just say I can still recall the handsome prickle of his facial hair and the plump smoothness of his lips. Lips I would really love to…_

“Halarys,” Din snaps me from the naughty thought, “that must be some really intense Force flying, huh?” he teases at my derpy face.

“Yeah, something like that,” I chuckle vaguely. _I feel intrusive even thinking of anything under his helmet, but I can’t really help myself. I love him._

I smile at Din, getting up to place the soiled cup in the collection bin. As I set the glass in, I catch my reflection on some standing liquid. _Fuck, I look like…well, I look like I had had my ear cut off. I had forgotten about that._

“Ten minutes and we’ll arrive!,” Cara shouts from above.

“Thanks for the update!” I yell back.

“No problem…you two continue whatever it is you’re doing down there,” she teases. 

_I love her._

“Will do!” I laugh as I shuffle over back to grab my medical supplies and clean myself up.

As I turn to the bedroom, I’m met by Din who has a fresh damp cloth eager in his hand.

“May I?” he gestures to the bloodstained side of my face. _He had read my mind._ “I don’t think we need to look quite that tough for where we’re going,” he smoothly speaks.

I lightly laugh and nod, taking a seat next to him on the cot, shifting so he has a good angle to work with his IV. I notice his other glove is off now too.

“I sanitized my hands,” he almost proudly shares. 

“You’ve been paying attention,” I smile at the gesture, looking him in his dark glass as I shift my hair out of the way.

His IV hand rises and tenderly caresses the unbloodied side of my face - I lean ever-so-slightly into his warm touch and close my eyes for a lingering moment, soaking in the feel of his strong, yet soft bare hand against my cheek. He maintains his hand to steady my head as his other, grasping the damp cloth, slowly and carefully approaches the dried blood. He very gently strokes away the now blackened crust around my temple and behind the base of my ear. I look onto his glimmering glass. 

_He seems so focused, and his touch so gentle._

He then works the cloth into the folds of what remains of my ear, sending shooting sparks of pain that make me wince and my breath hitch. _Fuckety fuck fuck._

“Sorry,” he pulls away the cloth and dark glass worriedly shifts to my eyes.

“It’s ok,” I squeak as the sharp pain dies down. “I’m just being a baby. You’re doing a great job.” I smile at his helm for a moment. “And plus you deserve a little payback after the chest tube,” I chuckle. _I had been a little rough with the catheter, but not more than necessary._

He hesitates briefly, but I nod to encourage. He finishes the ear ( _thank gods_ ) and works to wipe the trail down my jawline and neck. I watch his Beskar helm focus delicately on his task.

“You’d make a great physician’s assistant,” I smile at his helm.

He laughs lightly and glass shifts to my eyes. He sets the cloth down and reaches to tuck a stray strand of my silvery hair out of the way. The light brush of his fingertips against my forehead sends shivers down my spine and tugs at a yearning in my belly. _Din had a power over me and I never quite fully admitted that fact until now._

He reaches to the _correct_ bacta spray in my bag. _Good boy._

He tenderly steadies my face as he mists the healing spray over the bloodied, raw tissue. The pain slowly dulls at it goes to work.

“Thank you, Din,” I smile into his gleaming glass. _I’m not used to having someone care for me. But it’s lovely._

“Almost as good as new,” he reports.

“At least I’ll look a little more like a ruffian,” I snort.

“Jumping out of hyperspace in three…two…one!” Cara’s voice booms through the ship’s belly.

“Come here, you womp rat,” Din playfully grabs me and pulls me into him as the sudden deceleration hits.

I giggle at his sudden burst of lighthearted affection. _I know he loves me, but he seems to becoming more and more comfortable and…uninhibited at times._

“Shall we go check out Deridian X-9?” I look up to his helm, feeling the kind heart of the Mandalorian beat rapidly against my palms.

Without warning, he scoops me up in his arms and heads to the door. I reflexively giggle like a small girl, but then snap to physician-mode in an instant.

“Din you should take it easy,” I try my best to sound authoritative, but he is so darn handsome. Nevertheless, he halts at my request.

 _What has gotten into him?_ With furrowed brow and a slight grin, I stare at his helm trying to figure him out.

He takes in my expression for a moment, and his shoulders soften. “I’m just so glad you’re here with me…and safe,” he murmurs. I can feel his warm, soft breath escape his helmet. _I can’t imagine the crippling worry he had felt when I was taken. But now, literally in his arms, I not only feel safe, but also like my heart is soaring amongst the stars, faster than any ship._

I smile at the Beskar helm, soaking up his sight. Then my doctor-eyes shift to the tubing and LR bag, now less than an eighth full (he had received a therapeutic volume).

“Wait.” I shimmy in his arms and contort to reach to his IV, clamping and disconnecting the tubing. “Carry on!” I direct, enjoying the new kind of attention. 

Laughing, we head out and turn the corner just as Cara reaches the bottom of the ladder.

The very confused look she wears is priceless. “I see you two are still having a good time,” she smirks. 

Din and I look at each other.

“Yes we are,” I chuckle.

“Mando definitely deserves some happiness,” she sweetly responds as a big goofy grin breaks on her face. “Speaking of happiness, I know a green, big-eared monster who will be very happy to see the two of you.”

_The babe! My heart melts at the thought of seeing him. But I also fear that it guarantees I will be again confronted by my new ability. On the other hand, the Child and I now share something even more profound in common. It both excites and frightens me._

“Din, I thought I’d save you the honor of landing the Razor Crest,” she breaks my thought.

His dark glass shifts to my face. _I can tell he doesn’t want to let me go…I don’t want him to either._ After a few beats, he reluctantly and gently sets me to my feet. _I still can’t get over the fact he had even held me._ I bask in the lingering warmth and heartbeat resonating from his strong body. _We are both very much alive._

“Time for the Mudhorn Clan to reunite,” Din professes.

I smile at Din and Cara. “Green bean, here we come!” 


	9. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode IX: Deridian X-9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Halarys reunite with the Child. They also get a little more comfortable with each other as they enjoy some very deserved R&R together.
> 
> This one is another transition piece (but VERY long). 
> 
> **Warning: Some NSFW content and mentions of nudity (not intended to be explicit or demeaning).**

Din and I plod over to the ladder. I selfishly allow the Beskar pilot to go first, indulging myself in the tight curve of his backside as he ascends.

Cara notices my gaze and rolls her eyes letting out a low chuckle.

“He does have a nice ass, huh?” she huskily whispers, smiling with eyebrow raised and teasing me.

My face turns a warm shade of crimson. _Am I really being that obvious?_

“Gods, you are very correct,” I quietly giggle to her.

“You two coming?” Din’s helm peers down at us chuckleheads. 

We exchange glances and snort. 

I make my way up the rungs and Cara follows behind. Looking down I goofily bounce my butt at her and laugh. Din shakes his head at our antics, standing to keep the swift automatic door open. 

As I crest the second level, Din reaches for my hand, grabs hold, and hoists me up into his arms. His breath hitches a little and I look at his exposed side. I lift the dressing slightly and am delighted to find the injury now looks nearly healed. I remove the dressing altogether for it to get air and gently brush my fingers against his soft skin, tracing the remnant of the wound, willing it to heal completely. I look into his gleaming dark glass.

“Ok you two,” Cara smirks and strides past into the cockpit. I chuckle softly.

My attention is now drawn to the view through the window: An emerald green and sapphire blue planet with ridges of white-tipped grey stares back. Din’s embrace loosens and he strides ahead, setting himself in the pilot chair. I follow suit and stand kitty corner to his seat.

“Deridian X-9 is mostly a mountainous woodland, save for a few dozen small towns with an economy based on jewel-mining…and some occasional tourism from rich folk looking for a unique gem,” Cara shares, staring out the window. 

“These are the correct coordinates?” Din asks, shifting his glass to the ex-rebel.

“Yep, that’s where Greef said he’d be,” Cara confirms. “It’s an inconspicuous area - at least that’s what he assured.”

Din shifts his gaze back out at the new planet, pushing at buttons and flipping some switches. He guides the joystick and the ship obeys, drawing us closer. We descend through thick cloud cover. The ship slices through it like a blunt knife through a rich créme pie. 

Suddenly a rocky peak appears and nearly misses the ship. Red warning lights chime throughout the cockpit. 

_Fuck._

“Kriff,” Din mutters, echoing my sentiment and flipping at switches to better navigate.

“I said it was mountainous,” Cara retorts, glaring at the back of his head.

Another rocky peak now looms straight ahead and Din evades at the last moment. 

_Well, almost._

The ship shudders as the screeching sound of metal scraping on rock resonates below. Din veers the ship upward in an attempt to avoid worse damage. It sends me landing a top Cara.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I look at her and laugh. She snickers with eyes closed, shaking her head.

“You two ok?” Din grunts, still working hard to maintain control.

“I think maybe I should’ve kept piloting,” Cara’s eyes and voice now chide at Din. 

He flips at switches and studies a screen. “Some minor damage to the hull,” he reports, turning off the warning lights.

_Well, only minor damage, that’s good news I guess._

I lift myself up as the ship steadies and levels out. Turning, I see the clouds are now growing thinner and the stark deep green treeline of a woodland slowly appears into view.

Great coniferous trees rush underneath and I can see a small herd of large antlered ruminants galloping below, excited from the ship.

Din stays focused on his flying and my eyes glance to him.

_Gods he’s so handsome when he’s piloting…and so in his element._

My eyes shift from his helm as a sparkling cascading river valley comes into view just over the slope of trees on the foothills. Large ruby red and dark green fish jump from the water, splashing as we glide along the river’s edge. I look at the great mountains proudly sitting on either side of the valley, peaks disappearing into misty clouds.

I take in the serene rocky terrain below, sprinkled with various bushy green ferns and adorned by large, ancient conifers. _It looks so pristine and refreshing._

Up the river we see a small town come into view. 

“Looks like that’s it,” Din murmurs with a hint of excitement. 

_We all look forward to seeing the babe again._

I spot a water wheel churning rapidly in the crystalline river. It’s likely the town’s more primitive, but reliable source of energy. The town is fairly small, with only around a dozen buildings in total, linearly situated around either side of the one and only street.

My eye catches some of the inhabitants pointing to our ship as Din makes for a grassy clearing just to the edge of town. There, a couple other starships are parked, a few meters from the river’s rocky bank. One is likely Greef’s, I surmise.

“Looks like the natives are impressed by the Razor Crest, Mando,” Cara remarks, semi-sarcastically. 

“She’s a good ship…I’ll fix her up good as new,” Din spits back.

I smile at their almost sibling-like rivalry.

The ship hovers and lands gently on the padded terra. The engines’ roar decrescendos as Din flips at the controls. He turns his helm to us and rises.

“Let’s go find the kid,” he almost gleefully announces. 

We pad down to the lower level and I retrieve my medic bag along with Din’s Beskar chest armor and gloves. He stands still as I attach the breast piece. I then grab his hand, and gently remove the tape holding the IV in place. Next, I remove the cannula and press a dressing over the break in his skin, holding it in place for just a couple moments. He intently watches me, not saying a word. I lift the gauze slightly and his blood has already clotted. My eyes shift to the exposed skin peeking through the slash in his undercloth.

“You might want to find a change of undershirts,” I remark, looking to the great gaping tear in its side. He pulls his gloves on.

“I can change later - I want to see my foundling.” He gently grasps my hand as he switches the pneumatic ramp open. _He can’t wait to see the little womp rat - he hated leaving him in the first place, but it had been the safest option for the kid._

“Greef said he’d keep a watch out for us,” Cara relays.

As the door hisses open, we spot Greef holding the babe, walking toward us from the quaint village.

Din drags me along as his pace quickens, the fresh evergreen-scented air enveloping us as the rushing water cascading over rocks sounds in the background.

“What took you so long?” Greef teases us as we quickly approach. “Nice to see you safe, Rys,” he nods at me, using the nickname I had provided. 

“Thank you Greef,” I smile at the man, now trusting him more and more. My eyes shift to the bundle of ears and the largest grin grows on my face. “Hey green bean,” my heart softens to jelly.

“He just had a good-sized bowl of bone broth not too long ago,” Greef notifies us. “He’s a good eater.” 

“Come here you little womp rat,” Din’s voice falters as his hand’s grip falls from mine. He scoops the little runt from Greef. _He is ever-glad to hold his child again, feeling his heart swell to the brim._

Green ears and large eyes giggle and coo during the father-son reunion. My heart and lungs evaporate at the adorable sight.

Din turns to me, babe cradled in one arm and he reels me in with the other for a hug. I giggle at the adorableness.

“Good to see you green bean!” I smile in a high-pitched voice. As I reach to rub his peach fuzz head, I can feel the energy surging through me… _that didn’t take long_ …I feel slight panic bubbling in my gut. I look into the babe’s glassy dark eyes and he studies my face, sensing the change in my energy. He outstretches a hand toward my face, his eyes slightly closing. I suddenly feel all fear within disintegrate…its character shifts to warm love and tranquility - _the babe is comforting me._ Tears well in my eyes. He doesn’t need words to communicate his affection. I rub his ears and my lips place a tender kiss on his sweet little head. _Thank you, green bean._

“No offense, but you guys reek,” Greef coughs and fans his nose breaking us from the touching moment.

Cara dramatically nods in agreement.

“You don’t smell too good either,” Greef shoots the ex-rebel a squinted look.

Cara scoffs at him and walks up to us, rubbing the child’s head. “Good to see you, you little green monster. At least you don’t judge me,” she chuckles and the babe coos in response. “I’m going to head into town.” She looks to the village. “Greef, why don’t you show me to the nearest cantina? I could use a good brew or two.”

“Follow me,” Greef obliges, arm gesturing her to follow. “Oh…Din and Rys, before I forget, I reserved a room at the inn for you three. It has a great big sign with ‘inn’ on it. You can’t miss it,” he yells over his shoulder.

 _A room…for us?_ I raise my eyebrow and look at the babe and then to Din. 

I desperately needed a bath and to wash the dried blood from my hair. Din smelled of blood, sweat, musk, and blaster.

“I suppose we could all benefit from a little rest before our next venture,” Din’s voice sounds from his helmet. 

“What do you say, green bean? Time to check out the town, or at least the inn?” I look to his big curious eyes and smile. He coos in response.

Din taps on his forearm and the injured Razor Crest hisses shut.

I grab Din’s hand we make our way over the soft, green grass. I take in the rushing river glimmering in the warm mountain sun and breathe the refreshing, piney air. I glance to Din and the child. 

_My soul feels at rest and content._

Our feet reach the graveled mainstreet and we spot the inn immediately. 

_Well…it was part ‘inn’ and part ‘brothel’._ I laugh to myself. 

Most of the inhabitants are humans, but there are some droids, a few male Twi’leks, and a family of Cereans. They watch as we stride down mainstreet. Whispers and gasps come from the curious eyes; I don’t think they’ve seen a Mandalorian before. 

My eyes shift around to study the town. Half a dozen saddled, great antlered creatures, same as we saw cantering through the foothills, chew on dried grasses in troughs with their reigns tied up in front of the cantina Greef and Cara had disappeared into and also outside the sheriff’s station.

There’s also a bakery, a mercantile, a bank, a clothing boutique, an outfitting and gem-mining supply store, and a few multi-family houses with crafts, artwork and other small goods for sale in the small, unique storefronts at street level.

I see people staring out the windows at us. This _is_ a small town. _I can’t help but think of Q’uijalah for a moment and her small village._ I pray nothing will befall this one for our presence.

“Here were are,” Din rumbles. I turn and some prostitutes are eyeing up both Din and me from the front porch and windows.

One steps down, hair as high as a peacock tail and face painted to perfection. She shushes the squabbling, giggling ladies and lads behind her.

“Y’all must be Mando and Rys,” she warmly regards in a charming drawl, then smiles at the babe. “Greef had me save a room for y’all. Come, come - let’s get y’all washed up,” she gestures us in. “Loreena! Please draw up a bath in the honeymoon suite!” she shouts over her dainty shoulder.

“Yes’m,” a petite, red haired woman meekly replies and runs up the stairs. 

_Wait - honeymoon suite?_ My cheeks blush furiously. _Greef, you scoundrel._

“I’ll give the Mandalorian a real thorough cleanin’,” one of the lads paws at Din as we walk up the porch stairs and through the entrance. 

“No he’s mine!” one of the ladies claims, pushing her colleague out of the way, smiling widely with doe eyes and puffing her cleavage at Din.

“I’ll take the petite blonde,” a sultry brunette waggles her eyebrows at me. I swallow hard at the lusty thoughts, but also can’t help but be thoroughly amused at the barrage. The babe is giggling at all the over-the-top attention. _Oh green bean._ I laugh to myself at the not-so-child friendly establishment.

“Ladies and gents, please be polite to our inn guests - they are _not_ brothel customers,” she glares at the lot.

They collectively sigh and diligently return to scouting the street for other potential victims, save the brunette who continues eyeing me. I blush. 

“Up the stairs and to the left is your room,” the host reaches into a desk producing an old iron key. “Your friend paid for the week,” she smiles and hands it over to Din.

“Complementary breakfast is delivered to the rooms at seven-thirty AM. Please let me know if y’all need anything. My name is Dawnarae,” she slightly curtsies. 

Din is quiet. _He’s likely a little overwhelmed by the welcoming committee,_ I think. 

“Thank you Dawnarae. We appreciate your hospitality,” I smile and lead Din and the cooing babe up the creaky staircase.

We turn to the door and red-haired Loreena greets us. “I drew y’all up a warm bath,” she timidly smiles. 

_Crap, I don’t have anything to tip her with…except if she wanted some gauze?_

“Thank you, Loreena,” Din speaks softly but sternly.

She nods and continues on her way.

“Should we have tipped her?” I ask, watching her walk down the stairs. 

“We can leave her something when we depart,” Din justifies.

He reaches and opens the door to our suite. The focal point is a large oval window framing the sparkling river, dark green pines and impressive mountain range. A smile comes to my face and I glance at Din and the child. I notice his pod is hovering in the corner, near a large, very soft-looking bed. I cross the threshold and spot a bottle of some sort of wine chilling over ice in an ornate silver bucket on a nightstand. My eyes are then drawn to a simple, yet elegant light blue silk dress draped on the bed. I stride over and pluck up the note as Din shuts the door. 

It reads:

_I wanted to apologize for the fiasco on Nevarro. Mando and I took care of those bounty hunters. They won’t be causing anyone anymore trouble._

_This dress is actually a gift from the new Guild members, Gorshon and Qwal’tan. They say ‘thank you’. They wanted me to pass it on._

_Yours truly,_

_Greef_

I smile at Greef’s cute note and the incredibly kind gesture from Gorshon and Qwal’tan. I’m relieved they are both ok.

My fingers run over the soft silk as I grin to myself. I then feel Din’s heat as he gently approaches.

“It will look lovely on you, if you so choose to wear it,” he softly murmurs on my neck, warm breath ghosting over the exposed area on my shoulder. I turn and softly smile to him. The babe’s large eyes study and ears twitch inquisitively at us, trying to figure out what we are cooing about.

My eyes shift to the little green bug and I reach to take him from Din.

“Time for us to take a bath,” I smile at the babe, swooping him up and down, eliciting a giggle.

Din watches longingly as we disappear into the bathroom. I leave the door open knowing full well the tub is in direct eyeshot of the bed. 

_Oops. Naughty me?_

The bathroom has scented candles lit on the vanity countertop as well as on side tables situated about the round porcelain tub ( _this is indeed a honeymoon suite_ ). Another incredible view of the mountains shows through a large, circular window. I leave the curtains open as there’s no sign of civilization in this direction. My eyes shift back to the bath; crimson chrysanthemum petals are sprinkled atop the warm bubbly water.

_It looks so inviting._

“Bath time little one?” I speak into his happy little face.

I set the little green guy down to the cool tile floor. I glance over my shoulder and notice Din’s glass is watching. 

_Good thinking Halarys, for keeping that door open_ , I praise myself, smugly smiling.

I remove the Beskar armor piece by piece; each earning a clink on the tile floor. The babe watches me with curious, twinkly eyes. Next, I work to shimmy off the _very_ tight undergarment. I shrug it off my shoulders and down my waist, but it catches on my hips. _It had been tight on my backside from day one._ I clumsily dance around a little bit, trying desperately to wriggle free of its unrelenting grip. 

_Gods, it wasn’t this hard to get on…_

I chuckle at myself and I resort to steadying myself on the commode. I’m giving Din a show, that’s for certain. I leverage my thumbs under the stubborn fabric and finally work it past my hips and off my legs.

“Phew, that’s much better,” I smile to the babe as I sit on the commode catching my breath from the struggle. From the corner of my eye, I notice Din is still watching intently. I feign I don’t notice his gaze, but I can’t hold back the giant grin that insists itself upon my lips.

“Alright little green bean, your turn,” I walk over and lift his little green robe over his head, making his ears bounce as it slips off. His adorable round little belly chuckles as I pick him up to my chest. I stand for a moment, child over my shoulder, long silvery blonde ( _and_ _matted and bloodstained_ ) hair grazing just to my bare backside, which is in full view for Din’s pleasure. 

_________________

He thinks his heart stops and suddenly he can’t breathe. 

_This woman is killing me_ , he thinks, bringing a hand to his Beskar-protected heart. His heart restarts and skips, breath faltering at my sight. Seeing me with the child so tender and vulnerable greatly tempts him to settle down and retire from The Way. He shakes away the thought as I slip into the warm bubbles.

_________________

“Oh my goodness this feels so good, doesn’t it little one?” I hold him in the water and giggle. His little clawed fingers grab and play with bubbles and petals, ears and eyes curious at the novel sight and sensation. 

“Let’s get you clean.” I prop him up on my stomach and work to scrub his little clawed feetsies. He giggles loudly at the touch.

“Are you ticklish?” I grab at his little feet making him kick and giggle even louder. “Ok, evil Halarys has had her fun…now back to business.”

Large eyes watch intently as I gather up some bubbles and spread them on my head and over my face like a mask. 

“I am a Momdalorian!” I say in a low voice to the babe. He appreciates my lame joke and giggles. I quickly make him a bubble crown. “I dub thee King of the Green Beans!” I say in a silly fake accent, sending him laughing. I sing a ridiculous little improvised green bean song and make him dance in the water which prompts more laughter and vigorous cooing.

“Alright, King Green Bean, let’s really get down to business.” I grab a washcloth from the side table, wetting it in the sudsy water. 

“We are going to scrub, scrub, scrub your strong legs and make them all sparkly clean!” I sing-song as I wipe his little legs. 

“And now your little round belly!” He giggles at my goofy face and voice.

“And those enormously strong arms!” I make the dumbest face ever as I scrub his arms and hands.

“Uh oh…ladies and gentlemen and EVERYONE…we have ourselves a predicament…two very LARGE, dirty, filthy, stinky, yucky…yet adorable…EARS!” He loudly giggles and coos as I wash the big green pointies and work along his fuzzy head, disintegrating his bubble crown.

I work and scrub his back and little bum. I cup my hand in the water, shielding his eyes with the other, and rinse him off. “All good as new. The cleanest Green Bean in all the galaxy!” I proclaim lifting from the water and wrapping him in a towel. I stoop over, still in the tub and set him to the tile. Leaning, I work to dry him off, getting his little earsies extra well so too much water doesn’t trickle in. The babe yawns and his eyes grow sleepy. 

“I’m going to let the Dadalorian take care of you now,” I look to Din, who’s sitting on the edge of the bed, this time not acting ashamed to watch me. 

He slowly rises and enters the bathroom. 

“Hey you little womp rats, what are you up to in here?” he chuckles, scooping up the sleepy bare babe gently. 

“Shoot, I don’t suppose you have a spare robe for him, do you?” I look to his dirty one on the floor.

“We can wash that one. I’ll wrap him in blankets for now,” Din decides.

“That will work,” I agree, smiling at the sight of him holding the sweet, sleepy child.

“Let’s get this womp rat to bed,” Din looks at me for a lingering moment and then turns to set the babe in his pod.

I sink back down into the warm water and submerge myself, scrubbing my head and face. _I’d prefer a shower, but this was way better than nothing._

I reemerge, hand grasping for a cloth, and one appears out of thin air. Grasping it, I smile and wipe my eyes. My gaze finds Din standing near, but looking out the window this time. 

_He is still shy to look upon my bare form._

“Thanks,” I breathe, warmly smiling at his helm. 

“The kid is already asleep…that was quite the bath,” he softly laughs, still peering out the window.

I get a surge of naughtiness.

“How about you join me?” I set the cloth down and slowly stand up in the tub, water and petals cascading down all my curves, hair dripping wet (I undoubtedly looked like a drowned womp rat). 

His gaze now shifts to me. 

\----------------

His heart is thundering, threatening to escape his chest altogether. He’s sure I can hear it even through his Beskar armor. He thinks for a minute and hesitates. He gazes at my heavenly form and sweet smile.

 _Oh what the hells_ , he thinks in his head, _as long as the helmet stays on. That is still The Way?_

\---------------

My jaw drops as he begins removing his Beskar, piece by piece. It clinks on the tile floor. Next, he removes his gloves setting them neatly on a side table. He carefully works his torn undershirt off and over his helm along with his cowl and cape. He folds and rests them on the table alongside his gloves. I admire his strong form and take in the sight of his skin in the natural lighting - scars and all ( _he seemed to have more scars now than I had recalled_ ). He hesitates slightly with his thumbs in the lip of his pants. I quickly turn around to give him some privacy as he finally sheds the garment.

I catch a glimpse of his firm backside in the mirror and almost faint. A giant blushy grin appears on my face as I giggle to myself.

“Din…are you sure?” I ask, my voice almost shaking. 

“Yes…but the helmet is staying on. _This is The Way,_ ” he recites.

I feel the water ripple and displace as he enters the tub. I slowly turn to face him. My doctor-eyes cannot help but be drawn to the wound on his neck, which is now completely healed into a fresh scar. His handsome neck rapidly pulsates from the sight of my bare form, the heated proximity, and I suspect the fact that this is the first time he has been this exposed and vulnerable with another. My eyes flicker to the other wound on his chest, which is also now also healed over ( _if it hadn’t been, I’d have kicked him out of the bath for fear of infection_ ). He still has a bacta patch over his right-sided rib fracture. It’s been adequate time so I gently reach and remove the dressing. He stays completely still and my fingertips trace the skin beneath, and his breath catches.

“Are you ok?” I worriedly ask, thinking perhaps his rib isn’t fully healed.

“No - I mean yes. Feels good,” his voice cracks, feeling very overstimulated. I smile softly, reminding myself he’s not so accustomed to another’s touch.

My eyes continue their study of his velvety olive skin; they are drawn to connect the various raised scars on his chest, abdomen and arms. He stands still as my hand automatically reaches to trace a long one on his left bicep that looked relatively recent. I hadn’t quite paid it attention in the ship’s dimmer, artificial lighting.

“Trandoshan…he was trying to take the kid,” Din softly comments on the origin of the scar. A smile comes to my face, thinking of him protecting his foundling.

My eyes are drawn lower, to a previously uncharted area of skin. I reach along his right hip, fingers grazing just under the iliac crest. It looked like a bite of some sort.

“Bounty…a human. He tried to bite his way free,” he says in the most deadpan tone. “But he failed.”

I cannot help but allow a small laugh escape my lips. 

“The human mouth is teeming with all sorts of bacteria,” I comment. 

_Real friggin’ sexy Halarys…_

Din chuckles slightly. I can tell he is nervous from his rapid respiration and _very_ visibly racing apical pulse. 

_I want to let him take it at his pace_ , I tell myself.

My eyes rise to meet his dark glass. He is statuesque, seemingly in shock from my form or maybe from his own state of undress. 

_Did I pressure him into this? Am I tempting him against The Way?_

Then his gaze drops to my hand as he reaches to grasp it.

He brings my hand to his pounding chest and pulls me close. I melt in the heat of his embrace, feeling his desire blossom and mature against my skin. My own desire tugs at my lower abdomen, craving to meet his. 

_I’m not going to pressure him even though I very badly want to jump him. This is his decision._

He slowly lowers us into the tranquil, warm water, red petals drifting on the sudsy surface out of the way of our bodies. He gently shifts me to sit beside him, my legs overlapping his, his arm around my shoulders.

I smile as his fingertips trace meandering patterns on my knee. He’s being so kind…and chaste. Then I notice his dark glass shifts to my breasts, which half crest the water’s surface. 

_Or maybe not so chaste?_

I chuckle and softly smile. “They don’t bite,” I tease referring to his nippy past bounty. I’m deeply tempted to grab his hand and instigate the intimacy, but it’s his choice if he wanted to touch me in that way. _All I can do is give my permission._

His hand falls still on my knee and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. 

_Why does she fluster me more than any creature in the galaxy?_ he thinks.

With his arm over my shoulder, he gently pulls me in to cuddle against his firm chest, the bubbles and petals stirring across the surface and the warm candlelight. The warmth of the water is no match for his body. He tenderly traces his fingertips along my shoulder and down my arm, sending cascades of butterflies fluttering up my spine and over my scalp. His strong, rapid heartbeat, skipping wild and swift, resonates its thunderous song - no doubt a similar song to that of the hoofbeats of the wild antlered creatures in the wooded foothills. I reach my hand over its apex, willing it to calm and to tame its reckless cadence. I soak up his heat, reveling in the closeness, the intimacy of being with him. _Being loved and trusted by him._

His breath finally grows more controlled and rhythmic and his heart’s beat slows and its rhythm steadies beneath my hand. 

_Did I really do that? Am I Force-ing his internal organs to bend to my will?_

Then a soft snore sounds from his helm. 

_He’s asleep._ I forgot he likely hadn’t slept since I was taken at Nevarro. I smile at the adorable Mandalorian, my ears diagnosing a very faint, benign midsystolic murmur of his sleepy heart. 

Sleep’s grip is also about to claim me, but the water is now growing chill and I’m wrinkling like a raisin. The sun outside has now disappeared below the mountain tops, casting a dark orangey-pink glow across the sky - it has been replaced by two yellowed moons that are now just peeking over the mountains to keep a watchful eye on the drowsy planet. I carefully shift from under his arm, trying so very hard not to disrupt the sleeping helm flickering in the dancing candlelight. 

Suddenly, his arm pulls me back in.

“Where do you think you’re going?” his helms murmurs. I giggle at his touch.

“The water is cold,” I retort. “You should actually get cleaned up.”

“Maybe I could use a little assistance?” his helmet cocks to the side.

“Alright,” I grab the washcloth he had handed me earlier and wet it in the water. He lifts his arms like a child for me and I scrub his armpits and torso. I glance below the water and chuckle. “Surely, you can manage the remainder,” I smirk, tossing the sopping rag at his helm as I swiftly lift myself out of the tub before payback can befall me.

 _But I’m not fast enough._ A large splash hits my bum, earning a high-pitched yelp. _That naughty Mandalorian!_

I face my attacker and giggle, grabbing a towel and covering my more…interesting physicalities…and stick out my tongue.

He grabs the cloth and quickly and hastily washes the remainder of himself, then slaps the rag over the tub’s rim and menacingly emerges from the water - dainty little petals cascade over his chiseled form. His body twinkles and glistens from the small candle flames.

_Ravage me? Please?_

He steps over the rim and closes the distance, giving me a wet hug.

“Get your own towel,” I tease and kiss his wet heart. 

I shift around in his arms and remove my towel, wiping the drops from his helm and upper chest. He grabs it and takes care of the rest. I snatch a new towel and dry my long womp-rat-nesty hair, watching him gaze at me in the mirror. There’s a wooden brush on the vanity; I quickly inspect it in the dim lighting convincing myself no parasites reside amongst the bristles and start snagging through the unruly length.

Din makes his way behind and softly traces along my back and shoulders, sending me into a static, blissful paradise. 

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes. 

“You must really like womp rats,” I tease, diverting the sweet attention as I continue working the snarls out of my hair. He turns and grabs the babe’s dirty robe and I watch in the mirror as he gently lowers it into the tub and scrubs on the fabric. 

_He does laundry?!_ I swear I feel my knees go weak.

I continue snagging through my hair, making 12% progress on the knots, strongly contemplating whether or not I could pull off dreadlocks. My eyes intermittently study the candlelit, bare Mandalorian as he rinses the babe’s robe under the faucet. He tightly rings out the excess water and drapes on a side table. He then goes to his gear, and drops the whole lot in the tub.

_Going bare tonight?_

He takes a cloth and wipes each piece and then rinses it under the faucet and finally drying it with a towel. He quickly works at cleaning his armor as my hair finally starts looking less like an albino Wookie baby clinging for dear life to my head. I decide to braid the tamed beast. 

Din, finished with his task, looks at me, studying the new hairstyle appearing on my head which happens to show off my battle wound. It’s an intricate braid my mother used to weave into my locks as a girl. The style is traditional and had been especially popular for Life Day or weddings many years ago. My mother used to weave it special for my birthdays and the next day I’d have the most beautifully wavy curls. I miss my mother dearly. My eyes sting a little from the reminiscence.

“My mother would have loved you,” I smile to Din. 

“I’m not the best influence at the moment,” he stands up, the candle light flickering glimpses of his…more delicate parts. The stinging in my eyes turns into a giggle and playful shake of my head as I continue to fiddle with the strands.

“I wish I could have met her,” he softly speaks. “She raised a wonderful person.” I smile at his sweet sentiment as I stare down at a candle, musing about what my mother would say about Din. “May I wash your armor?” he heartily offers, changing the subject.

My eyes shift to his glimmering helm and a big grin fills my face. “Yes, I would very much appreciate that.” 

_I passionately hated washing clothing._

He turns and goes to work, scrubbing my undergarment first.

“Thank you, Din,” I smile at him as I finish the braid’s long tail, tying it off with an extra hair ribbon in the vanity drawer. I turn as he moves on to my Beskar pieces. 

“Thank you…thank you for doing chores,” I lightly laugh, rubbing at his rippling shoulders as he works to buff any debris or smudges on the metal.

“You’re welcome,” his helm quietly breathes. I lean and plant a soft kiss on his acromion process. 

——————

He feels his heart dance wildly like the candle surrounding us at my touch. He turns to watch as I stroll into the other room, the braid’s tail tracing back and forth above the curves of my backside, dramatized by the flames’ flickering shadows. _Breathe_ , he reminds himself, feeling lightheaded. He continues his chore, replaying that beautiful image in his mind.

——————

My eyes go to the babe’s pod as he sleeps, soft little breaths barely audible.

 _Sleeping right through your daddy’s bathtub shenanigans, eh?_

My eyes softly study his sweet ears and rise and fall of his chest. Din had swaddled him in a soft blanket, which makes me melt.

“I’m going to wash my helm,” Din whispers, peeking into the room.

I turn to him. “I’ll give you privacy.” 

He nods and closes the bathroom door, the candle light disappearing, and now only the light of the moons pour lazily through the windows.

I start to wonder what his eyes see through that glass. _Would I look different to him without its filter? Does his neck grow tired of its weight? Can he breathe easier without its cover?_

My thoughts wander as I stare at the bed. 

_The dress._

I walk over and reach for its smooth fabric. I slip it over my head and revel in the silken embrace.

_Gods it’s luxurious…I feel like a princess._

My eyes shift to the metal pail on the bedside table. 

_Princesses definitely drink wine_ , I barely need to convince myself. I grab the bottle and pop the top. A dry, fruity aroma plumes to my nose, sending my taste buds on edge. My stomach rumbles, reminding me I shouldn’t drink without filling it with something else first. _I’m known to get a little handsy with just a serving of alcohol._ Then I notice a wrapped wedge of what I guessed to be some sort of cheese nestled into the melty ice. Setting down the opened bottle, I grab the package and unwrap it, revealing a pungently nutty, savory cheese. 

A grin comes to my face as a thought suddenly materializes. I pour two glasses of the rich, dark wine and balance them along with the cheese in my hands as I carefully make my way over to the bathroom door.

I clumsily tap the door with my knee, my hands busy with the balancing act.

“I brought you some sustenance,” I sheepishly smile. A few moments pass and I begin to scold myself for bothering him. 

The door cracks slightly.

“Thank you,” his voice now without the electronic overtone. 

_His helm is off._ I reflexively close my eyes, turning my head away.

I extend the glass forward to the slight opening. His fingers gently trace along mine as he grasps the glass, making my heart flutter. I take a breath. 

“Take some cheese too,” I encourage offering the savory wedge, knowing he must be hungry.

I brace the wedge, as he breaks free a good chunk and some pieces fall to my feet, making me giggle. 

“I’m going to make you clean that up.” Suddenly I feel fingers running over my toes, searching for the lost crumbles, making me jump a little and laugh. I steady myself not to spill.

“Please don’t eat it,” I plead.

“Too late,” his voice responds, deadpan. 

I snort. _At least it’s not like I’m going to kiss him._ Then I grow a little disappointed at the thought. 

The door slowly shifts closed, sounding a click. My eyes open now that the barrier separates us.

“Thank you,” he mumbles through the door. I can hear his weight has rested against it.

“You’re welcome,” I smile as I slide down to sit, resting my back against the wood between us.

“This wine is actually pretty good,” he admits.

I take a small sip, and its smooth, dry fruitiness fills my tongue and glides down like velvet. “It’s very good…a little too good,” I giggle. 

“Have you tried the cheese yet?” he inquires.

“Not yet,” I take a bite and the savory flavor overwhelms my taste buds.

“Its flavor is very rich,” he mumbles through a bite. “I doubt not nearly half as rich as your lips,” he muses.

A blush grows on my face. _Did he just hint at kissing me?_ I take a deep breath and then swallow the bite. 

“Maybe one day you will know,” I smile, hoping one day there would be a time when all barriers between us have vanished, physical and the like.

“It will be a day I will never forget,” he exhales. 

My heart and soul lighten at the hint of a promise and words spoken without the helm.

“A day I will never forget either,” I smile. 

“Thank you for respecting my beliefs,” he softly speaks. His voice seems slightly lower without the modulator, but just as handsome.

I chuckle softly, taking a swig of the liquid velvet.

“Of course. I love all of you Din, including your dedication to The Way.” 

_Part of me hopes the day he hangs up his helmet will come sooner rather than later, and another part feels selfish, even rude for even finding an ounce of happiness at the thought of him breaking his Creed. It is his way of life…his religion. It is his choice, and I will do my best not to sway or pressure him._

“At least we’re enjoying some solid food together,” he points out.

I look to the cheese in my hand and chuckle.

“I will forever remember this cheese as our first solid meal together.” I take another bite and wash it down with a sip of wine. Despite the differences in their flavor profiles, they paired beautifully together, complimenting and even enhancing each other’s qualities. I drew the parallel between Din and I. 

_I was definitely the stinky cheese in the relationship_ , I giggle to myself.

“What are you finding so humorous?” Din asks through a bite.

I take another bite of cheese.

“Just imagining myself as cheese,” I giggle. _The wine was starting to work its magic._

He chuckles. “Now that is a unique thought, doctor.” 

_He called me doctor, again…I can’t help but find it very attractive when he refers to me by my title._

“I do believe the wine is working, Mandalorian,” I confess, finishing the delightful remainder of the glass, lamenting the fact it was now empty. _I could pour another…_

I finish the cheese and start to feel drowsy from the indulgent libation. Sleep starts to envelop me in its faded, heavy cloak, when suddenly the support behind me gives way and I start to fall backward.

Strong hands catch to prop me up. Slightly disoriented, I look upward. Din’s moonlit form, helmet back on but otherwise bare, comes into view. 

“Hi there,” I tipsily mutter at his male gender. _The wine is definitely at full force…gods I’m such a darn lightweight._

He bends down, taking the glass from my hands, and scoops me into his arms. A girlish giggle escapes me. 

“You’re strong.” I suddenly have no filter. “I think you’re very handsome and sexy, mister Mandalorian.” I hiccup slightly and snort as he carries me over to the bed.

“Time for bed, doctor,” Din balances me as he peels back the covers. He carefully sets me down on the soft mattress. 

_Gods he is so sexy…and clean._

“Time for bed, huh? That sounds naughty, Din.” I smile as I swipe my hands at his bare abdomen, peeking again at his handsome gender and giggling. A deep yawn grabs my throat and I start to feel very sleepy again.

“Time to sleep,” he orders, pulling the covers over me.

“You’re so authoritative,” I clumsily reach from the covers and briskly slap his muscled backside. He turns and glares at me, shaking his helm and letting out a slight laugh. Giggling, I retreat under the covers, hiding from his view. I listen as he rounds the bed to the other side and slips under the covers. I peek my head above.

“I know you’ll inevitably do what you want,” he murmurs in a contemplative tone, laying on his back with helm staring straight at the ceiling.

“Thanks for putting up with tipsy me,” I mutter as another yawn demands sleep.

He tucks his left arm behind his helm, inviting me to snuggle close. I wriggle over under the sheets and rest my head on his chest, stealing his warmth. His heartbeat is rapid again.

“Do I make you nervous?” I smile. His heart skips in response.

“Maybe,” he keeps his answer brief, not indulging my tipsy questions with too much detail.

I gently run my hand from his chest down to his hip, earning a faster rhythm interrupted by some more skips. 

“You know, for a doctor, you sure seem to enjoy giving me heart attacks,” his helm shifts slightly, trying to eye me at his angle.

“It’s only for science,” I giggle, very tempted to reach lower.

 _I think that stunt would cause cardiac arrest_ , I smugly grin at my very indecent thought and I resist.

Another yawn beckons and begs for sleep. His heartbeat slows to a more reasonable pace and lulls me to blissful slumber.

“Sleep well, my sweet womp rats,” he drowsily whispers into my hair and glances over to the babe. He soon follows me into a deep, restful sleep as the moons’ lights protectively pour over us and the sleeping babe.


	10. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode X: Dark Energy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The adventure with Halarys, Din, the Child, Cara and Greef continues on Deridian X-9 in a Western-esque town.

A loud boom and distant screams snap us from our sleep. 

“What’s going on?” I disorientedly ask Din, who’s now wide awake and heart pounding. My head aches from my indulgence last evening. 

_The babe._

I turn and the child is now awake, eyes widely looking in the direction of the destruction.

Another boom shakes the ground. 

_Were the Imperials already here?_

Din jumps up from the covers and has his armor in place in a couple minutes. I follow suit, stripping off the silken dress and pulling on the undergarment.

 _Get on you fucking tight bast-_ it slips over my hips. I blame the tighter fit on the recent laundering. _But gods it felt good to be in something a bit fresher._ Din hands me my Beskar pieces and I secure them into place.

“Should we take the kid?” I look to Din who then holds his hand out, suspending my thought and listening intently as I throw on my medic bag.

_The screaming and booms have now ceased._

“He’s safer here for now,” Din speaks. “I don’t think it’s the Imps.” He walks over to the babe.

“You stay here, kid,” Din orders the begging eyes.

“Bye green bean,” I say to his sad eyes. “You need to stay safe.”

Din taps the controls, closing the big eared babe in his pod. 

I follow him out the door and he quickly locks it behind us. As we rush down the stairs, I notice the brothel is empty.

We make our way outside, sun just starting to crest over the mountains. The brothel workers are all congregated in the middle of the street just down the steps, chattering like a gaggle of forest geese. They look at us and point down the street. We shift and see a larger grouping of townsfolk about 15 meters away in front of a smoking building, and spot Cara and Greef, who are already on the scene. We rush over the gravelly street, past the apartment buildings.

“What happened?” Din asks the pair as we stare at the smoldering side of what used to be a wall in the bank, no doubt the source of the explosions minutes before.

“They killed the sheriff and robbed the jewels from the bank!” A bystander yells at Din’s helmet before Cara or Greef can respond.

The group collectively looks at the Mandalorian warrior, eyes pleading.

“Please help us,” a young woman steps forward. “You are a Mandalorian, a strong and victorious warrior. You and your friends could catch them.”

“The gems are our livelihood - they stole four months of work from us,” a young, thin man meekly adds. 

“They rode off that way on drendels just a couple minutes ago…there’s three of ‘em,” an older Twi’lek man chimes in, pointing toward the great coniferous forest past the town. 

Din looks at me and then to Cara and Greef. 

“We will reward all of you,” a well-dressed man proclaims as he breaks through the crowd. 

“Yes, we’ll help,” Cara doesn’t waste a moment responding.

Din shoots her an irritated look. 

“We need the money,” Cara glares, defending herself.

“Din, we probably need the money and these people need our help,” I promptly agree with Cara. _I can only assume we are running on literal fumes in the Razor Crest._

Din huffs and looks at all the begging eyes. “Fine.”

“I’ll stay behind and watch the child,” Greef offers. 

“Just try to keep him away from the prostitutes if you so oblige,” Din warns, handing him the key.

Greef clears his throat at the request. “You have my word.” He nods and turns to the inn.

“He has a clean robe in the bathroom,” I shout to Greef. We hadn’t dressed him in our hurry.

“Looks like it’s just you, me, and the doctor,” Cara smiles at Din and then to me. She looks like she’s had an indulgent night of drinking. 

_I probably don’t look too much different._

“How are we going to follow?” Din asks the murmuring crowd.

“We have three fine drendels behind the sheriff station,” a woman responds. “I will saddle and bridle them for y’all. It’ll be just a few minutes.” She turns and jogs across the street to the station.

My doctor-instincts finally kick in. “Is anyone injured?” I shout at the crowd. _I scold myself for not asking sooner._

“Over here!” A young man shouts, propping up an older gentleman. I rush over. I can see the older one has sustained some lacerations to his legs from the blood and torn fabric of his pants.

“He’s the bank owner, Otis,” the young man eagerly reports, setting the injured man to the ground.

“Otis, my name is Rys. I’m a physician,” I smile to the distressed patient as he grabs at his leg. “You’re going to be just fine. I’m going to take a look at your wounds,” I inform him. “Was anyone else in the bank?” I ask, assessing his right quadricep which dons a few shallow lacerations. 

“Thankfully, no,” the panting banker responds, looking at me through pained eyes. I move to inspect his left shin, which has suffered some abrasions, which contain some small debris. _Nothing looks broken or too serious._

“We weren’t yet open…and I was in the vault at the time, which shielded me from most of the blast,” he continues, grimacing and checking on his wounds. The younger man looks worriedly at the banker. _They share similar features and I surmise they’re likely family._

“You’re lucky…looks like just some cuts and bruising along your left shin and right thigh,” I report, grabbing some antimicrobial solution. “I’m going to irrigate the debris and then apply some bacta,” I smile at the man. He nods in agreement, breathing heavily.

A shadow casts its shade on me.

“Doctor, how long will this take?” Din’s voice smoothly meets my ears.

_He called me “doctor” again. I suddenly feel fuzzy._

“Doctor?” his gleaming helm persists.

“A few more minutes,” I discern, looking up at the shining Beskar man. 

_His armor cleaned up nicely. My mind wanders, and I blush at the thought of what lies beneath it all…_

_Halarys, focus!_ I snicker to myself, shaking the sultry thought.

“How’s it look, Doc?” the banker huffs.

“Looking good…almost done,” I smile, grabbing for the bacta. I mist his wounds - none required stitches thankfully. I then apply some bacta patches to the deeper lacerations.

“The wounds should heal by nightfall, and then you can remove the dressings,” I inform, picking myself up and brushing off the dusty gravel. “Just take it easy for the day,” I squint at the man.

“Will do. Thanks Doc, I owe ya,” he slowly rises to his feet with the help of the younger man. 

“We need to go,” Din hurries, gesturing me and Cara to follow behind the sheriff’s station. He hands me a spare blaster he produces somewhere from his belt. 

_You gun-totin’ Beskar magician you_ , I think as I grab the blaster and holster it in my medic bag.

As we draw to the station, I notice the townspeople already had the slain sheriff in a pine box. 

_That was quick…_

We turn around the small building and a stable with three large antlered creatures appear. 

_Ahh, they are drendels,_ I finally make the connection.

“It’s almost like riding a bantha,” the stable hand steps into view, grabbing the reins of the smallest drendel and guiding it to me. “This is Nel,” she introduces and I reach out my hand to the magnificent creature, feeling a familiar energy welling within my chest and flowing over my skin. 

_Oh fuck, it’s happening again…I don’t want to terrify my ride._

But instead of frightening the creature, the energy seems to calm her and she draws closer, her long nose nuzzles against my hand as she closes her eyes. I can tell she’s a young female. 

_May I please have your help? May I request you offer me transportation to find some bad people?_ I think, now better in control of my energy. Her eyes open and she turns, exposing her saddle at the ready. I stroke her lean neck. _Thank you, Nel._

_Did I just ask a very foreign deer for permission to ride her into a manhunt? This is my life now I guess…_

Cara had already mounted her steed, which was raring to get on the move.

I look to my Mandalorian as I step into the stirrup and hoist myself onto my new friend. 

_Thatta girl._

Din is fighting a little to steady his steed. He loses his balance and falls hard on his backside with a grunt.

_Ouch._

“The doctor can tend to that later,” Cara remarks with a laugh and a twitch of her brow. I chuckle and shake my head.

“You ok Din?” I ask, still snickering, but feeling bad for him.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles.

The drendel snorts at Din - I can sense it finds Din’s fall satisfying. 

_Looks like your friend doesn’t want to make it easy for mine_ , I think to my girl.

“You can do it,” I cheer Din on as he goes for a third attempt.

“Come on Mando, you rode a blurrg…this is nothing,” Cara chortles, amusedly studying his struggle.

This time he quickly hoists himself upward and makes it in the saddle. The drendel bucks a little, but then settles down.

“Wooo!” I proclaim. My drendel rares at my sudden noise, almost sending me on my bottom as I grab the saddle horn for dear life. 

_Easy girl_ , I laugh and Cara smirks.

“Follow me,” Din orders. I gently press my heels in instruction for the drendel to follow and we round the building behind Cara and Din, trotting into mainstreet and toward the woods.

“Good luck!” Otis the banker shouts from the cantina’s porch and the crowd cheers at us. 

I nod as we ride past.

Din touches at the side of his helm, seemingly adjusting settings. He scans at the woods.

“I have their trail,” he shouts over his shoulder, his drendel now picking up to a smooth canter. 

Cara looks to me and we pick up our pace. I can feel my drendel’s excitement as we cross the tall grasses and enter the ancient forest. The air is fresh with evergreen, a false sense of tranquility given the purpose of our travels.

“Let’s pick up the pace…they have a good fifteen plus minutes on us,” Din urges, nudging his drendel to full speed. 

_And are they ever evolved for speed._

They gallop at least four times faster than a bantha and much more smoothly ( _for which I’m sure Din’s backside is thankful_ ). Their hooves, somewhat dainty, delicately and swiftly maneuver the forest floor and their quick reflexes dodge trees and branches. I grip the saddle horn tight as my steed aims to catch up with Din. 

_Oh, Din’s steed is your mate, huh?_ I can feel her affection for the other drendel as we closed the distance. I smile at our connection and feel my soul soar wild and free like her’s. 

It’s exhilarating, the forest zooming past at great speed with such power beneath me. I look to Din, now neck and neck as if in a race. 

Din keeps his helm forward, scouting for the trail.

Suddenly blaster fire hits Din in the chest, jarring him backward. 

_Fuck._

He manages to stay on and returns a few shots, slowing the drendel’s speed. Cara fires back as we retreat. We veer off, away from the line of fire. My eyes search for the source of fire, but the brush and ferns have grown thick.

“Looks like we found them,” Cara grumbles, blaster at the ready and glancing through the underbrush.

“Din, are you ok?” I ask as I round my steed to get a look at him. I only see a char mark on his freshly polished chest plate, no blood.

“The Beskar did its job,” he looks down and rubs at the mark.

Blaster shot sears through the underbrush. 

“I see two at one o’clock,” Din reports the image through his visor. 

_There are supposedly three total. Where is stooge number three?_ I think.

“I’m taking them out,” she growls, aiming her gun in their direction and firing.

Blaster fire spatters from behind us, hitting my drendel in her hind leg and I can almost feel the searing pain myself.

_Noooo!_

She whines in agony and falls to her side. I quickly jump off before she pins me. Blaster drawn I aim and fire into the brush with rage burning inside me.

Return fire bounces off my chest armor. I look down at the char mark and the up again. I spot his position. He fires more rounds that just bounce off.

_Gotcha._

I feel energy surge through me, coursing from my core and over my skin, like static electricity. My hand instinctively reaches outward toward the bewildered, trigger-happy thief a few meters away and I grasp in the air at his throat. I lift him a meter from the ground, his blaster thuds on the ground as his hands desperately try to pry the invisible grip. Muffled gasps and chokes sound from his pathetic throat, his eyes turning bloodshot and blood trickling from his ears and nares. Rage rampages through me as I hear the cries of my innocent drendel. My fingers force shut and the thief’s neck satisfying crunches and snaps. His limp, lifeless body falls to the ground with a loud thud. The energy within dissipates. I breathe heavily as I come down from the high. 

_What did I just do?_ I stare at the dead man’s terrified bloody eyes. _I think I enjoyed it…_ I feel ashamed and confused. _The thief deserved it, right?_

I slowly turn and Cara and Din are staring at me.

“Woah, you just…you have…you have powers like the kid?” Cara’s eyes widen and her mouth falls open slightly in disbelief. 

“Apparently I do,” I shrug. _I just murdered someone._

“Your doctor pal is a badass,” Cara punches Din in the shoulder.

He’s silent. 

“Din and I took care of the other two,” she smiles.

I hear my drendel moan and I instinctively rush past them to her side

 _It’s ok_ , I attempt to calm her with my energy, but she panics and kicks at me. I try harder to soothe her so I can treat her wound, it looks to have nicked a major artery and she was bleeding out, staining the rusty dried fallen pine needles a deep purple. 

_Please let me help you_ …

Her eyes are wide with fear at the sight of me. 

_Please, why won’t you let me?_

Her eyes remain fixated in terror and she kicks at me with her front hooves. 

Then a sobering thought strikes my head: _Is my energy tainted by my recent act? Does she sense something truly dark and evil within me?_

She kicks at me again, her breathing becoming more labored in her struggle against exsanguination. 

_Please let me help you…I won’t harm you._

I feel arms grab and pull me back just as she lashes out again, nearly missing my knee. Din holds me tight. 

“No,” I growl, tears starting to well in my eyes.

Her mate comes by her side and nuzzles her cheek, offering what small comfort he can. I feel the despair and pain from both of them.

I try to break free from Din, as she’s now much calmer and I could fix her leg.

“Let me go Din!” I scream, trying my best to break his strong grip. “She needs help!” I start sobbing.

“It’s too late,” Din somberly speaks, his grip finally loosening.

I break free and rush to her side. Her breath has now stilled. I grab my scanner and check for signs of cardiac activity, scanning her entire torso and head as I was completely unfamiliar with her anatomy. 

_Nothing. Godsdammit!_

I stare through foggy, stinging tears at the great pool of rich purple blood enrobing around her great form. I feel her spirit fade and rise away with the gentle forest breeze. Her mate nudges her limp form and gently lies down beside her. He lets a low bellowing cry, mourning her death.

_She is gone._

Din quietly approaches from behind. “She was frightened and fatally wounded…it wasn’t your fault,” he speaks softly.

I shake my head. “I think it was.”

Din wraps me in his embrace and I sob into his warm Beskar. 

_What am I turning into?_ I look at my hands in cold fear, hands which now seem foreign. I can feel a darkness kindled inside of me… _perhaps it was always there. But was it bad if only unleashed upon those who deserved it? Am I a monster? Am I completely forgetting my oath as a doctor of “do no harm”?_

_Most importantly, am I headed down a path from which I cannot return?_

I feel Din’s embrace tighten.

“It’s going to be ok, Halarys,” he tenderly reassures, his pressure loving and comforting, and I work to calm myself. I focus on his warm breath and steadily thumping heart beneath his Beskar. 

_I don’t know if I can trust myself with the Force. The temptation to use the gift is like taking your first breath after being trapped underwater: Primal and ravenously all-consuming in the moment. But is it also taking and staining pieces of my soul? Or is it magnifying who I truly am? I’m terrified I might hurt Din or the babe. Does the babe sense my evil?_

Din holds me close as my thoughts wander in agony. Cara watches, studying my existential crisis. She slowly approaches and my eyes shift to hers. 

“There’s nothing you could have done under the circumstances,” she tries to reassure, her lips drawn tight in concern. I feebly nod my head and she turns to scout for the stolen gems.

_It was my fault._

_Just like I will never fully forgive myself for Q’uijalah’s or Ziyain’s deaths and all the anonymous victims who paid the ultimate price for being in my vicinity. I can’t help but wonder when Din, the babe, Cara, and Greef paid this price. I hoped I would die before that day would come…_

I look up to Din’s glass feeling like an insatiable paranoia is devouring me, and his gaze tenderly meets mine. 

“I love you, Halarys…nothing will change that,” he softly speaks, caressing my cheek. His unwavering sentiment sinks deep to my core, anchoring the out-of-control freighter of panic that batters the pit of my stomach. 

_I will do my best to be better…to be stronger…for the babe and for him. They love me. And I love them._

“I found the stolen gems!” Cara shouts, now leading over one of the thieves’ drendels that carries upon its back two bags, drooping heavy with loot. 

“We should leave,” Din breathes, looking at Cara then to me.

I wipe away the remnant tears on my cheeks. My eyes wander to the dead drendel.

“We should at least bury her,” I say out loud.

“She’s too large and we have no shovel,” Din assesses.

“We could cover her with the fallen needles,” Cara offers in support.

I meekly smile. “That’s a great compromise.” I look to Cara.

The three of us cloak the ever-sleeping form of the drendel with handfuls upon handfuls of the dried pine needles that smell of sweet, evergreen decay. _Her body will return to the great pines amongst which she had loved to race._

Her mate carefully watches as we anoint her body with the rusty coniferous foliage. He won’t leave her side, at least not for now. Din attempts to reach for his reins, but I gently bring my hand to his armored forearm to stop him. I look to his dark glass and shake my head. I can feel the mourning the drendel is experiencing… _he needs to be by her side_. I slowly approach, monitoring the creature’s body language. He remains focused on his love. I carefully work and unstrap his bridle and uncinch his saddle. When he eventually stands, it should fall away.

“There are two other drendels,” Cara informs, pointing through the brush. “I’ll lead this one behind me,” she refers to the treasure-toting one.

Din looks at me. “You can ride with me if you’d like,” he gently offers, dark glass studying my still-fragile state. 

“Thanks Din,” I consider his proposition. “But I think I’ll be fine to ride on my own.” I decide. _I need to snap out of my self-loathing._

“My offer stands if you change your mind,” he asserts his concern for me.

I force a smile and follow him through the brush to the other steeds. They busily munch on ferns as we approach, not paying us much attention. I work to keep my energy calm and neutral. Din strolls up and grabs both of their reins. He offers a set to me and, hesitating slightly, I accept them. The creature is content and doesn’t mind my presence. 

_Maybe I’m not as dark as I think?_

With my still-healing self-confidence, I place my foot in the stirrup and lift myself on his back. He is larger than my previous steed and his energy not as sharp. 

Din mounts his drendel and turns him around to look at me.

“Are you ok?” His glass glints with concern through the great antlers.

“Yes, much better,” I gently pat the soft creature’s neck.

“Alright, let’s get out of here!” Cara proclaims. “Yaw!” Her steed takes off in a canter, encouraging the other in-tow along.

Din’s helm turns to me and I nod. I instruct my drendel to move with the pressure of my heels on his sides and he faithfully hustles into a trot. Din follows behind, no doubt keeping a watchful eye on me. I resist trying to connect with my ride as I did with the other. _I want to resist using these powers as much as I can…I’m frightened by them._

I urge my drendel to a canter to better match Cara’s pace. The ex-rebel likes going fast.

The soothing white noise of the passing trees and hoofbeats on the padded terra eventually calms my soul. The fresh evergreen air cleanses my lungs. I slowly clear my mind. 

Din comes into view out of the corner of my eye and I glance over, this time genuinely smiling. _He’s there for me. He loves me for who I am…flaws and all._

The trees start to thin as the clearing comes into view. Cara’s about 15 meters ahead. 

We break through the trees and cross the tall grass, galloping back toward town. I can see an eager crowd in the street.

As the hooves clack and crunch on the gravel of mainstreet, Cara slows both steeds to a gentle trot, then bends and reaches, unhooking a bag, holding it high in victory as the crowd cheers.

Din and I slow our drendels to a walk, lining up beside Cara. We take in the excited, grateful energy from the crowd. They surround us, shouting and whistling their deep gratitude.

Cara dismounts, handing the bag to Otis who’s now walking without a limp. He struggles a little with the weight of the sack, letting out an embarrassed laugh.

“I’ll carry the other bag,” Cara assesses, a smug grin on her face.

Din and I dismount, the stable hand breaking through to collect her small herd. Her eyes widen in search for the rest of the drendels as two of her trio were missing. She gives a concerned look.

“The smaller female was caught in the crossfire. She didn’t make it. Her mate refused to leave,” Din speaks, taking over the difficult conversation. 

Tears well in the woman’s green eyes, but she fights hard to stay composed.

_It’s not like I can even say it was a quick death…the drendel had suffered and I frightened her._

“Kolaven will mourn for a few days and likely return,” she spoke somberly. “They always come back to the stable as they are trained.” 

“I’m sorry,” I look up at her, trying to assuage my guilt. 

“Those men won’t be causing any more problems,” Din reassures, alludes to justice.

“You got the jewels…that was a win for this town,” she grabs the reins from us, patting the creatures. “Thank you,” she looks to Din and then me.

Din nods as she turns to grab the other two steeds. His attention is then drawn to me and he reaches for my hand. 

“How about that reward?” Din tries to divert my thoughts. 

I smile. “I bet this reminds you of your bounty hunting days,” I playfully nudge his exposed side, taking him up on the change of subject. My hands become further distracted by his soft, warm skin.

“I think I need to change once we get our payment,” he looks down at where I trace the healed wound.

“I kind of like the easy access,” I slyly smile and glance my fingertips softly over his ribs. I can see I’ve flustered him now as his cowl swallows nervously.

“To the Mandalorian and his partners, I do believe a reward is in order,” the same well-dressed man that had originally offered a prize booms over the crowd.

Cara and Greef are approaching in the distance as the crowd gathers around.

“The town and I would like to give you a share of the gems, worth at least ten pounds of Beskar,” he eyes both of our armor. He produces a fist-sized sack, brimming with sparkling jewels of deep blue, green, red, yellow, clear, and purple. 

He hands it to Din and the crowd cheers.

“Manda…lorian…manda…lorian!” they start chanting. I smile at the excited crowd. This robbery and “justice” is likely the most exciting thing that’s happened here in years.

Cara and Greef, who’s carrying the giggling babe, break through and join the center of attention.

“What did you get for your troubles Mando?” Greef greedily eyes the brown leather sack, making me chuckle. Din ignores Greef, reaching for his son.

“Come here you little womp rat,” Din hands the loot to Cara who shows it to Greef and Din grabs the babe. He coos at Din’s touch.

“Oh, here’s your room key too,” Greef distractedly produces the key from his pocket.

 _I’m slightly afraid of the child in this moment, that he might sense my darkness_ …

At that thought, the child turns his attention to me and stares blankly. _Is he sensing something dark?_

He then giggles and holds his hand out to me. 

_Maybe I’m not evil…or maybe the child has darkness as well and he does’t mind mine. But, then again, who is really “pure” in this world?_

Din brings him to me and I feel a soothing energy from the bundle of ears and twinkling eyes. 

_Thanks green bean…you take care of us more than we do you sometimes._ I scritch at his fuzzy large ears and he coos in contentment. _I guess we’re in this “Force” thing together huh?_

Din watches me as my soul continues to lighten. I look in his glass visor, seeing my reflection. 

_I’m still me. It will be ok._

He pulls me in for a hug as the crowd continues to chatter and starts to disperse.

“I think this calls for a toast,” Greef announces, loud enough for all the townsfolk to hear. I think he was hoping for free spirits in addition to the jewels.

“Yes!” A couple men and women reply with fists in the air. 

“Drinks on the cantina for the new Mandalorian sheriff and his deputies!” one of the women shouts, sending the crowd cheering in agreement.

Din breaks his embrace to address the crazy idea.

“Thank you, really, but we are just passing through,” his voice sounds loudly through his modulator.

“Nonsense! You are a good fit. Please stay,” the well-dressed man insists. 

“I’m sorry, but we cannot stay,” Din replies gruffly.

“Speak for yourself,” Cara chimes in. 

_She wants to stay? I suppose it’s more stable than being a bounty hunter…but it seems a little boring for her._

“Well, we would be honored to have…what’s your name again?” He leans his ear toward her.

“Cara,” she doesn’t provide her full name.

He waits for more to her name, but then gives in to her stoic glare.

“Sheriff Cara!” he proclaims to the crowd who cheers in response.

“I can’t promise forever, but at least for now,” she smirks.

“You’ll make this a very safe place,” I smile to her as we head to the cantina.

“I like the cantina quite a bit, and also the fresh mountain air,” she laughs.

“Are you sure, Cara?” Din looks at her. “We could use someone like you on our crew.”

She laughs and her eyes fall to the ground and then she looks to me.

“Mando, you got three-in-one with this woman…a doctor, a badass warrior, and magic Force powers,” she chuckles and then looks to Din.

“I mean, I _am_ pretty badass,” I humbly take her praises and chuckle with Cara.

The ex-rebel firmly slaps Din’s backside, earning a hitched breath and a head shake of disapproval.

“You might want the doc to look at that,” she winks, referring to his earlier fall. 

_She is…wow._ I laugh to myself.

She strides ahead to catch up to Greef who is just entering the bar.

“I’m going to make her give us at least three-fourths of the reward for that,” he laughs. I look and notice the sack is now hanging from the extra ammunition on his belt.

“Looks like she’s giving us all of it,” I gesture to his belt.

“That sneaky shock trooper,” he chuckles looking down. He inhales deeply and studies the pouch. “Greef likely took a few.”

“Babysitting fee I guess,” I snort, rubbing the green bean’s head in Din’s arms. We start walking over to the lively ssloon.

“I’m going to skip on the…festivities,” Din admits, as we near the cantina door. _It’s not like he can partake easily_. “I need to repair the ship,” his helms shifts in the direction of the parked spacecraft.

“Maybe you can teach this green bug and me how to do said repairs?” I smile. “Or maybe he can heal ships too?” I gasp at the large eyes with an exaggerated face, making him giggle.

_I don’t think it worked that way, but who knew?_

“Let’s grab his pod,” he decides, changing trajectory to the ‘Inn/Brothel’. 

Dawnarae spots us as we approach and steps down the porch. That sultry brunette is eyeing me again, making me blush.

“We heard y’all retrieved the jewels. That was mighty kind of ya,” she praises and fusses. “Now we fixed y’all a hearty breakfast. I’ll have Loreena bring it up in a couple minutes. It’s fresh ruby river trout, braken berries, fresh whole grain bread from the bakery, and skimmed bantha milk.” She smiles and pinches at the babes cheek.

_Gods that sounded good. I’m starving._

We head up the creaky stairs. I grab the key from Din and open the door. I start to blush at the reminder of last night’s events… _I hadn’t yet apologized for my more…indecent actions._

Din closes the door behind us and sets the babe down to toddle.

“I’m sorry for any of my…indiscretions last evening,” I force myself to face him, despite wanting to hide from my loose behavior.

He promptly closes the distance and hugs me close to his Beskar.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” his breath brushes my face. “Besides, I might need you to look at my backside again…it was a hard fall,” he whispers near my ear.

I blush and playfully smack his armored chest for the naughty comment.

“Maybe later,” I perk an eyebrow and wink.

Three knocks sound on the door.

“Ma’am and Sir, I’ve got yer breakfast ready,” Loreena’s drawly voice sounds through the door.

“Come in,” Din speaks.

The door opens and the savory smells of the hot breakfast waft into the room. It’s a giant platter fit for a feast ( _I’m ravenous, so it’s enough for two plus a little bean_ ). 

“You can set it on the bed,” Din directs. 

“Thank you,” I smile at the young, copper-haired woman.

She nods and turns to leave. 

“Here,” Din holds a small sparkling red gem in his hand. “This is for your hospitality. Thank you.” 

She turns and accepts it with a huge grin.

“Y’all are very welcome,” she breathes, voice bright and excited. She curtsies, smiling wide with the handsome tip in her hand and leaves out the door, gently closing it behind.

“You remembered to give her a tip,” I grin at the Beskar man, his big gushy heart spilling out from underneath that armor. I stride over and grab his hand, kissing his chest. “Let’s eat!” I pull him over to the bed and the kid is already eyeballing the delicious meal. Dins shoulders soften and he looks dejected. 

_Then I remember his helm._

“I’ll share with the kid in the bathroom and you can eat here,” I insist. He looks at me, considering the proposal. “You need to eat, especially if you want your bum to heal.” I slightly giggle and the child laughs on cue. 

_Did you know the word “bum”?_ I tickle the babe’s sides and he giggles even louder.

“Ok,” Din reluctantly accepts. He watches as I take our portion and start to the bathroom. “Thank you, Halarys,” he speaks softly with affection, dark glass glimmering from the lazy sunlight spilling through the window.

“I love you,” I gaze at him for a lingering moment. “And I love you too, green bean!” I coax the green nugget to the bathroom as Din watches us disappear behind the door. I wave to the Mandalorian who now rests upon the bed. He nods as I close the door.

I look at the babe’s green ears and sparkling eyes which are eager for the meal.

“Let’s share this plate, shall we?” I stick a fork into the pan-seared trout and it flakes instantly into juicy tidbits. I offer the first bite to the babe, his mouth opens wide and he coos at the savory morsel. 

I take the next bite. _Celestial heavens, this is amazing. So rich, yet light?_

“Have you tried the fish?” I shout to Din, still thinking he’s on the bed.

“It’s very very good,” his voice sounds right outside the door, muffled by a bite. I hear his weight rest against it.

I laugh a little, giving the next bite to the hungry little bean.

“Sorry, I thought you were still on the bed,” I chuckle, taking a bite of the soft, fresh baked bread. It was life-changing too, almost as good as Q’uijalah’s. _Oops, Q’uijalah’s bread will always hold number one in my book._ I smile at the thought of her being a little jealous of me enjoying another baker’s bread.

I give the child a small piece of bread, dipping it in some of the marinade from the fish to be less of a choking hazard. His eyes comically widened at the new food. He grabs at my hand for more, making me laugh.

“What’s so funny in there?” Din chuckles.

“Your foundling loves the bread,” I giggle. “His face made the most awestruck look. It’s good bread,” I admit. “But not as good as Q’uijalah’s. You two would have loved her’s.”

Din shifts on the door a little. “I bet I would have. She was your friend on Fara, right?”

_I’m a little shocked. He had never asked about her or really anything about my past. My heart warms at the growing intimacy._

I tell him about the first meeting between Q’uijalah and I, and where the verse of the song I had sung to the child and him had originated. I tell him about how I had seen her and her child (who had passed away from illness years before I had met Q’uijalah) when I had been on death’s edge on the child’s home planet. _My soul feels even lighter at sharing my friend’s legacy with the man I love more than I love being a physician…and that’s saying A LOT._

_Q’uijalah had been the closest I had to a best friend besides the windhounds I had grown up with. My studies kept me from socializing too much, save a handful of shallow romantic relations with a boyfriend or girlfriend and that one Twi’lek physician assistant (she was an emotional handful…)._

Din listens to my stories as we all continue to eat. As I finish my reminiscence and offer the last bites to the little bean, I notice Din is shifting against the door.

“Your backside bothering you?” I take an educated guess. A few moments pass.

“Yes,” he eventually grunts in admission. I can hear his grimace through the door.

“Alright, let me have a look. You could have broken your tailbone,” I shift to doctor-mode. “Are you done eating?” 

“I finished about ten minutes ago,” I hear him lift up from the door.

“Thank you for listening,” I speak sympathetically that he endured pain to listen to my stories.

The babe looks at me, content and full, and then at the door.

“I think a little green monster wants to see his daddy,” I say with wide eyes.

“Alright, the helmet’s on…you may proceed,” his voice now slightly more robotic.

I open the door and the green ears bounce as he toddles to his Beskarian father. Din bends and picks him up. He stiffens a bit and I notice.

My hand slips into my bag and snatches the scanner.

“Bend over,” I order. I blush and snort at the poor choice of words.

Din chuckles a little and sets the babe down, whose face is now concerned about his dad. 

“It’s ok kid, I just got a sore back,” he mumbles at the wide-eyed babe as I lift his cape out of the way and scan along his lower spine. 

“No fractures,” I assess. “There’s swelling along your coccyx, likely a bad bruise. And the sore back looks like a muscle strain.” 

“I’ll be fine,” he turns. I grab his wrist.

“You don’t have to be in pain. Let me treat you,” I feel his radial pulse quicken beneath my fingertips. I knew being vulnerable was not exactly something Mandalorian culture endorsed.

Din thinks for a couple beats.

“Ok,” he exhales. “How long will this take?” he asks. “I really should repair the ship.”

“Let’s repair you first,” I look into his dark glinting glass. “It will be fifteen minutes tops.”

He considers for a few moments. “Fine. So what do you need to do, doctor?” He looks down at me, with what I imagined to be a raised eyebrow.

“I need access to your bare back for a topical treatment,” I stare at him and smile.

He begins removing his Beskar and then his torn undershirt. I blush at his strong figure. 

“Now you can lie face down on the bed,” I instruct, his helm cocks slightly. Din obeys and adjusts himself on the bed, grunting from the discomfort. The child coos and watches our movements. 

_We’re entertaining, huh green bean?_

“I’m going to massage some bacta into your aching muscles,” I warn Din before pouring some of the cooler fluid on his back. He jumps a little. 

“Kriff,” he mumbles at the quick start.

“You didn’t hear that green bean,” I giggle. “Your luck is that _that_ will be his first word.”

Din laughs shallowly, trying not to wrench his back even more. I lean over and begin to work on massaging the solution into his tensed muscles. He slowly grows less rigid as I run my hands over the knots in his strong back that had likely formed while trying to compensate for the tailbone injury. _I can’t help but secretly revel in his soft, scarred skin, and feeling his warmth._

“How are you feeling?” I ask, noticing his relaxed breathing.

“Like I’m in some sort of heaven,” he murmurs contentedly, visor smooshed into the sheets.

“Fifteen minutes is almost up,” I giggle evilly.

“Ok,” he sounds let down.

“You know, I can always give massages if you’re sore. And it’s not like it’s the worst thing in the world to see you shirtless,” I tease.

He chuckles lightly at my lust.

“May I apply some bacta to your tailbone area?” I blush at my question. 

He’s quiet for a couple moments, then shifts to unbuckle his belt, lowering his pants to expose just the upper part of his ( _magnificently muscled_ ) glutes. He had a purple-blue bruise forming in the area. 

“You bruised it good,” I hiss at him. I work quickly to not make a thing of it, misting the bruised tissue well. 

“Let it soak in for a few minutes,” I instruct. The child is still watching us. _This is probably more of Din than he had ever seen before…_

“This is bacta. I use this to heal wounds. It’s kind of like a slower, less effective version of your powers,” I wave my hands and he coos.

“I’d say your hands have healing powers. My back hasn’t felt this good in years,” he pulls up his pants and buckles his belt.

_I never really tried to heal with my…powers. The only thing I seem to be capable of is strangulation at this time._

“I think if we ever find some practitioner of the force, I should train alongside the child.” I needed to face my fears.

“That’s a great idea,” he shifts upright and slowly stands, not testing his seat quite yet. I look at him and nod. “Not that you need it,” Din elaborates. I look down, inadvertently reminded of my ability to become unhinged. The babe coos, pulling me from my dark, self-destructive thoughts.

“I do need it,” I admit. Din grabs my hands and lifts me from the bed into his arms.

“You’re an incredible person, Force or no Force,” his glass glimmers from the window’s bright light. He brings my hand over his unprotected heart and presses it firmly there. “I will always trust you, Halarys.” His heart doesn’t skip or falter this time…well at least not until I gently graze along his side with my free hand. _He does trust me_.

I hear clattering and we both look to the bed. The child has gotten into the dirty dishes, licking them clean.

I snort at the adorableness. “You’re still hungry?? You ate about as much as me and I am stuffed…plus, you are the size of my stomach little bug.” I snatch him from the plates and pretend to eat him. He giggles. 

“Are we certain Greef fed him?” I laugh, looking to Din who just shrugs.

“We should get to repairs soon to ensure enough sunlight,” Din looks out the window at the serene beauty.

_I like it here too, but we must keep moving onward._

“What do you say, green bean? Time to become starship mechanic apprentices of the famous Captain Din Djarin?” I fly him around like a spaceship to the door. 

“Get ready to put in some work,” Din warns.

I smile. _I guess I will finally learn something about ships…_


	11. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XI: Healer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An incident happens with the Child. Halarys's abilities are tested as Din witnesses.
> 
> A short transition piece! Original artwork at end (:

With his large green ears flailed out like the wings of an aircraft, I swoop the giggling babe up, down, and around as Din locks the door, sounding a telltale mechanical click.

“You’re going to make him vomit,” Din eyes the sudden motions to which I make the laughing bean endure. 

_He’s enjoying it…but Din had a point - he did just eat the weight of himself in bread, fish, and berries…_

“Ok bug, time to dock this craft,” I make a ridiculous roaring noise, trying my best to mimic the decrescendo of the Razor Crest’s engines. I hold the green babe close to me as he lets out a small burp (thankfully a dry one).

“Good call Din,” I smile looking at the babe who coos, eyes looking a little dizzy from all the flying.

Din chuckles lightly as we make our way down the stairs. 

Dawnarae’s sky-high hair appears from behind the front desk.

“How’s breakfast?” she grins at us from large lashes and fusses at the babe, who’s now wide-eyed at her colorful display.

“Breakfast was delicious. This guy even licked the plates clean,” I smile, looking down to and bouncing the bug in my arms. 

_He did weigh more…_

I look up to find one of the friendly lads predatorily eyeing-up Din. The man closes the distance, ready to pounce. Din slowly backs up, hand instinctively reaching for his trusty blaster.

“Excuse us,” I shortly speak at our bubbly hostess as my eyes widen at the sight. Dawnarae’s own eyes shift to her lusty employee.

“Valeran, paws off the inn patron!” she scolds as the young man has Din nearly backed up against a wall. I snicker briefly at the scene. 

_Poor Din doesn’t know how to react…but at least he hadn’t yet blown a hole in the harmless, well nearly-harmless man._

Valeran gives a scowl at his boss and then turns his attention back on his prey, seductively running a finger down his chestpiece.

“Maybe later, Mandalorian,” he winks and retreats at the tsk of his alpha.

The babe giggles as Dawnarae squawks at her insubordinate.

Din clears his throat, and straightens his posture, sending me into giggles. _Someone’s a little flustered._ He shakes his head at me, knowing I’m amused with the situation.

“I’m going to put you to _good_ work on the repairs,” he playfully teases back, making his way past me and the babe and out the front.

I follow behind, down the porch stairs as we walk down the gravelly mainstreet toward the gleaming ship parked at the edge of town. I breathe the fresh pine air, soak up the warm sunshine, and enjoy the comforting white noise of the rushing river. _It seems like a new, beautiful day._

We walk past the charred bank, already under construction by a handful of townsfolk. They wave and cheer at us, making me smile, which only adds to my better mood. We continue on our way, approaching the cantina. A group of a dozen or so are outside as we pass and hold their brews high, nodding in reverence.

 _They really do think of us as heroes._ It’s a strange feeling being regarded as so. Similar, yet different than saving a life using medical skills. I enjoy it all the same. But I then I see a dendrel outside the cantina and scold myself, thinking again of the terrified, bleeding creature.

“Halarys,” Din speaks, breaking my thought. “He’s…uh…playing with your hair,” Din points at my head and I stop.

“Wha-?” I notice the babe has his hand outstretched and the tail of my braid is curling mid-air over my head. I laugh and set him down to the terra, the hair-tail suddenly falling onto my head and slipping back into place as his Force grip is broken.

“You little green urchin,” I tickle his sides. “Making me have big hair like Dawnarae, huh?” 

_I try to hide my feelings of being a little unnerved, but it was a harmless gesture, right?_

The babe stares at me in curiosity, as if trying to determine my mood or if his actions aren’t acceptable.

Din scoops him up and looks at me.

“You ok?” He notices my facial expression change as I ponder the new development.

_I hadn’t yet seen the babe use his powers so…casually._

“Yeah,” I look to Din and the babe, and smile as the bean yawns. “I think our helper is going to need a nap soon.”

We continue and reach the edge of town, plodding through the soft, knee-high grass to Din’s faithful ship. A large tear in its side gapes from the recent tussle with the mountain.

The ramp hisses open and I follow Din into the belly. He sets his foundling down and proceeds to rummage around in a storage area, producing some metallic tools which he hands to me. The babe’s eyes and ears follow our movements.

With his helm buried deep in the tools, I can’t resist but tickle at Din’s exposed ribs. It startles him and he bumps his helmet on the back of the toolbox. 

“I’m sorry!” I go to comfort him as I giggle. “Are you ok?” I grab his shoulder.

He laughs, “I guess I really should change my undershirt…I think my helper will be too distracted otherwise.” He pulls me in close, and I feel his heated breath on my neck. I slip my small hand in the tear, under his armor and run over his bare abdomen, earning a hitched breath and quickened pulse.

“I am _very_ distracted,” I purr into his chest.

“And you’re being very distracting yourself,” his voice falters, ribs taking hurried breaths under my demanding touch. 

The tools slip from my hand on his back, clanking to the floor. My eyes fall to their level and I now notice the absence of a little green gremlin. I let go of Din. 

“Where’s bean?” I look around the ship’s cargo area; there are no ears are in sight causing panic to brew its acidic liquid in my gut.

Din rushes to look in the bedroom. 

_Nothing._

We both run down the ramp into the bright sun. I spin, looking around and underneath the ship… _nothing_.

_Is he in the cockpit?_

“He’s over here!” Din shouts over his shoulder, running through the tall grass toward the river’s edge.

“Bean!!” I yell as I race through the thick meadow and fumble over the rocky river bank. The babe is standing right on the edge, near the rapidly rushing waters. Din is almost to him. 

The babe giggles and turns to play keep away from his new father, fumbling on the large rocks.

.

.

.

Then the child loses his grip and tumbles into the rapids.

.

.

.

“Nooo!!!” I shout as I maneuver over the large, jagged stones. Electric energy flickers over my skin, and my senses heighten. Din has already dove into the water as I reach the edge. I follow swiftly along the river, feet steady and accurate like a drendel, keeping pace with Din’s shining Beskar, visible underwater. Despite my sharpened senses, I do not yet see the babe. 

_Where is he?_ My eyes search further downstream and I spot something green just a few meters down. 

The energy bursts and I instinctively grasp at his direction, focusing on the nape of his robe. Everything around me falls away as I completely focus on lifting him from the water. I raise my clenched fist and his form rises from the rapids - I levitate him to a nearby rock. The energy hastens my speed, and in a blink, I’m at the breathless babe’s side. 

.

.

.

_His form is still._

_._

_._

_._

I start compressions with one hand on his little chest and the other cradling his sweet little head from the hard rock, all while my energy simultaneously wills the fluid out of his lungs. The static, electric sensation courses through me at a speed that rivals the river, from my core, down my arm, and out my fingertips. I keep compressions and the energy surges.

Suddenly, he coughs and the water evacuates his small lungs as I turn him on his side. I feel his little breaths become stronger as energy continues to flow from my hands into his core, instinctively seeking to restore him to a healthful condition. His eyes slowly blink open, and he weakly coos at my face.

“Bean,” I lean and kiss his little wet head. _Thank gods._

“Kid,” Din approaches from behind, dripping from the water. He closes the distance, kneeling over the womp rat, gently caressing his son’s head.

The energy starts to fade with the gentle valley breeze and my senses return to normal. I suddenly feel my hips begin to weaken and my vision fades. 

“Hal-,” I hear Din’s voice in the far distance as a peaceful blackness consumes me.

\---------------------

Original Artwork by Author (Foxlace on Tumblr, TheHeartOfAMandalorian on AO3)

 _What kind of flower is this?_ , 2020

Graphite on Cardstock

  
  



	12. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XII: Mesh'la Cyar'ika

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are Halarys and the Child ok after the incident at the river?
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day - this one is a shorter, smutty one <3

I awaken on a familiar, soft bed, sun lazily pouring over me. 

My eyes, bleary with groggy sleep, flutter open and Din’s shiny Beskar helm comes into focus.

“Halarys,” he breathes, scooping me into his arms in a loving embrace. “You’re ok,” his exhale brushes over my neck. 

_I’m still disoriented but enjoy the affection._

“What hap-?” I answer my own question, recalling my use of the Force at the river’s edge to save the child. _My blood runs icy._

“Where’s the babe? Is he ok?” I look around the room. 

“He’s just fine, he’s resting safely in his pod.” Din’s gaze shifts over to the side of the bed and my eyes follow. I see the gentle rise and fall of the child’s chest. 

“I need to make sure he’s ok,” I start to lift myself from the bed, but my movements are halted as my head thumps in a dizzy haze and a moan escapes my lips. Din steadies me.

“You need to rest,” he sternly insists, setting me back down to the pillow. He gently swipes a stray strand of hair from my forehead, his dark glass glimmering into my eyes. 

I stubbornly reach for my medic bag. 

_Wait…where is my medic bag?_ My hand searches for its fabric, but to no avail. Din notices and I look to him, brow intensely furrowed with worry. _That tote held important medical tools._

“Don’t worry, your bag is right here,” he shifts and bends over to the floor and grabs my prized possession.

He hands it to me with a cocked head. I immediately reach inside and grab the scanner. 

“Here, place this on his chest,” I order as I switch it to projection-mode.

“Um…ok.” As he reaches to take it and I notice a large, bloody gash on his left bicep. I gauge it had come from his dive into a jagged river rock.

“You’re hurt,” I gently grasp his wrist. 

“It can wait,” he mumbles as I let go and he walks toward the sleeping babe. He hovers the scanner over his torso and the image projects. I squint to assess the image: His little ribs look intact, heart looks healthy and his lungs are basically at baseline tidal volume. The image provided reassurance I hadn’t harmed him in any way.

_This time my powers had done something good, but I still didn’t trust them. And I refuse to willingly use them anytime soon, especially after draining me to faint._

“He looks healthy,” I smile at Din. He nods and moves the scanner off the babe. The Beskar man then strokes his foundling’s sleeping little head.

“You saved him, Halarys. I watched you.” Din’s gaze shifts from the babe to me. “Your powers are growing.”

 _I feel scared gutless at the thought. I want to hide my gift, not for it to become…stronger. I don’t trust myself. I don’t trust myself using the Force, even if using it this time had saved the babe’s life. I know I’m playing with something I don’t understand and that can lead to only bad things…_ I think of the hemorrhaging drendel’s terrified eyes.

Din notices my blank stare and closes the distance, his weight displacing me slightly on the bed.

“You saved him. You harnessed the Force for saving a life.” He sets my scanner down, grabbing my hand. I look into his dark glinting visor, which looks so thankful and tender, despite being inanimate. “Thank you,” his voice breaks with sincerity and emotion at almost losing his foundling.

“It was kind of my fault in the first place…I was being…distracting…I should have thought a little more,” my eyes wander to the foot of the bed.

He grabs my hand and my eyes shift to his tinted gaze.

“It wasn’t your fault. He’s quick. I think he can teleport himself,” he softly chuckles, looking at the sleeping babe.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I huff and glance at the pod. 

_I cannot believe what happened…how I used the Force…_

I become lost in my thoughts for a moment, tortuously encircling the idea of the Force and how my unbridled emotions seemingly trigger its expression. _I don’t like it. I feel out of control…and dangerous._

Din reaches to my shoulder snapping me into the present. My eyes instinctively shift to the angry laceration on his bicep and I shift to sit up, grabbing his wrist to keep him from moving as I reach into my bag. _I need to get my mind off the Force and do what I do best - heal._

“I’m going to treat this wound, Mr. Djarin,” I insist, flashing my assertive blue-green gaze at him. “You should get out of your damp undershirt…who knows what kind of strange microorganisms are swimming in that river.” I slather hand sanitizer on my hands.

Din just sits still, his dark glass studying me. He then slowly reaches and detaches his Beskar cuirass and next his gloves. I shift and help him with his pauldrons and then proceed to reach for his forearm pieces.

“Careful,” he pulls his arm out of reach. “There’s a flamethrower in that one,” he warns.

I can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

“Why am I not surprised?” I giggle, carefully sliding it off his arm. “I haven’t seen you use that function yet.” 

“Nothing’s needed roasting since I met you, I guess,” his dark glass gleams at me as I smile at his response. I work off his other forearm armor. I eye his damp undershirt; it’s still the old ripped one.

“Would you like help removing?” I look into his glass as I run my fingers over the hem of the shirt’s bottom, his abdomen expands as he takes a deep breath.

“Sure,” he almost whispers on his exhale, glass glimmering at my eyes. He studies the small smile on my face that subtly widens at his permission. 

I gently grab the damp lip with both hands, fingers slipping underneath against the soft skin of his lower abdomen. As I lift, he shifts to ease the removal, his muscles cording beneath his scarred skin as I work it up to his xiphoid process. He lifts his uninjured arm and worms it free from the clingy, damp cloth. I help him maneuver his injured arm, carefully easing it loose of the stubborn fabric. The wound is now fully exposed and unfortunately the movement tears at it, weakening the clots, and his deep red blood oozes out over his bicep, trickling down his muscled arm.

“It tore open again,” I hiss as I grab gauze and apply pressure to stop the bleeding. I grab the scanner with my other hand.

“It feels like it,” he grimaces. He manages the shirt over his helm with the other hand, tossing the damp mass to the wooden floor with a _shlunk_.

I keep pressure for a few moments longer and gently remove the gauze to check. It trickles a scant amount, but it has mostly clotted again. Din stays still, his helm studying me as I hover the scanner over his arm to assess his newest injury. 

“Looks like a nasty blunt cut to your bicep. It’s about three centimeters at the deepest point and nine centimeters long.” I observe no evidence of debris in the wound. 

“I should invest full-body armor,” he remarks, studying the wound on his arm as I flush it with some antimicrobial solution, which causes it to bleed again and Din’s breath to hitch.

“Sorry,” I apologize while holding gauze beneath to catch the bloodied overflow.

Din remains still, watching my petite hands. Satisfied the worst of the bleeding has again subsided, I reach for the bacta solution, angle his arm level and pour it into the wound.

“Hold your arm like this for a minute,” I instruct. I wanted gravity to work the bacta deep into the wound as I don’t have a syringe handy. As Din faithfully holds his arm level, I rummage for my Beskar needle tucked into my bag. My fingers locate it and produce it along with the biofiber stitching thread. I rinse the needle with the antimicrobial and thread the biofiber.

“That thing again?” he gulps at the tiny pointy tool. 

_Who would have guessed this Mandalorian would be fearful of something so small?_

“Hey, at least it’s Beskar? This needle was like made for you,” I try to joke and relieve his tension. _He honestly does not like needles._

He nervously watches as it approaches his skin. 

“You’ve been shot, stabbed, bitten, among many other things…and I see you’ve cauterized your wounds many times, based on the numerous raised scars,” my eyes glance to the one near his current wound and to one on his upper left chest. “Why does the little needle bug you?” I glance at his helm then back to his wound, piercing his reddened flesh to start the first stitch.

“Kriff,” he huffs, looking at the line of stitches forming on his arm. 

“Sorry,” I lean in and apply a kiss just above the wound and continue the unpleasant process.

“I guess I just don’t like knowing I’m going to be stabbed over and over again,” he hisses as I hit a particularly sore spot along the wound.

 _I would offer pain medication, but he always refuses_.

“At least the woman behind the torture is my mesh’la cyar’ika,” he murmurs through his modulator.

My ears perk at the strange words and I raise a brow.

“Did you call me a profanity?” I chuckle, teasing him as I continue to approximate, nearly reaching the end of the wound. 

He takes a deep breath and softly exhales.

“It’s Mando’a,” his glass aims to look at me in the eyes, “for ‘beautiful beloved’.”

I blush, giving him a brief glance for the incredibly sweet sentiment as I finish tying the end of the stitches. I bite the end of the fiber to snip the excess thread, as my scissors were not handy. I place the needle back into its home.

“Beautiful beloved, huh?” I gently kiss his arm again, feeling all loved and fuzzy.

“Come here mesh’la cyar’ika,” he leans and pulls me onto his chest, earning a giggle. I shift to straddle his waist as he rests himself back, arms tucked behind his helm. The twinkling of his dark glass and warm, soft body beneath my…more sensitive areas…sends a yearning rolling in my lower abdomen. 

_Gods I want him…ALL of him…_

_Patience Halarys_ , I scold myself for the lusty thoughts. _But look at the position he has pulled me into…it’s not like he was exactly being shy._

From my not-so-innocent vantage point, my eyes scour his firm core just where my pelvis rests. I can’t resist the pull to feel his light olive skin. I reach down and trace my fingertips over his soft, scar-scattered abdomen. His helm shifts down to watch my hands move over his sensitive, touch-starved skin. 

It’s almost more than he can bare.

“Hal’ika,” he murmurs, his respirations quickening at my gentle tracings. His arms free themselves from his helmet and reach to my face as I move toward his chest, fingertips entranced by the firm slopes of his rectus abdominis. 

He takes my hand in his - he’s shaking. He guides my hand over his lower sternum, pressing my palm flat against the wild cantering of his heart. My face flushes at the feeling, knowing I was the reason for its rapid pace. 

“You have my kar’ta entirely,” his shaded glass glints in the warm sunlight, and I instantly understand his meaning. His words surge the longing deep within me which also grows stronger with each quickened beat of his galloping heart.

“And you have mine,” I lean into his helm, pressing my forehead against his. “Mesh’la cyar’ika,” I repeat the phrase to him and smile, not entirely sure if I used it correctly.

I feel his hand reach along my back, tracing along my shoulder blades over the undershirt. My hips rest back down to his hot core as his fingertips trace down my spine, fueling the warm tingling desire. I feel my pulse quicken in anticipation of where his touch is traveling. He stops just at the brim of my hips, leaving me stranded with a hot tension about to boil over in my lower belly.

I lean my weight into him, my now very warm armor pressing against his pounding chest. 

“You can touch me where you please,” I softly encourage into his pulsing neck as my lips teasingly brush and softly apply passionate kisses along his prominent sternocleidomastoid muscle. 

_I’m in a complete spell of passion and arousal that surges through my core and settles in my blossoming desire. I want…I need him._ **_I love him._ **

I can feel his pulse pick up even more beneath my glancing lips. His feverish warmth, I can feel burning beneath my thighs, even through my undercloth. I arch my back as I feel his touch again at my lumbar region, this time with both hands. They travel over the curve of my plump backside, lingering and reveling in the way it more than fills his hands. My breath hitches as he ( _finally_ ) gently squeezes my clothed flesh. 

“Din,” I murmur into his clavicle as I press soft kisses along the handsome bone. His muscles tense and his breathing quickens. I shift myself up and move lower, now straddling his pelvis with my hands resting on his heaving, firm chest for support. Torturously, I brush my fully bloomed desire against the bridled, aching arousal beneath his belt. His breath catches and heart flutters beneath my palms as his dark glass studies my face which is worn heavy with my passion for him. 

“I love you,” he reaches to brush a strand from my face and then holds my face in the most gentle caress - one never would guess he was ever a bounty hunter in that tender moment. The way his hand cherishes my cheek shifts my mood from lust to something so saccharine sweet. 

_I can feel his love for me in much more than a physical way: It’s deep, rooted in areas I never knew could be reached. In this moment, I can feel our souls completely align. He’s the compliment to my being. I need him to be the best version of myself - to flourish and to thrive._

I reach to caress the back of his hand on my cheek, taking it and turning my lips to plant a sweet kiss into his palm. I press another gentle kiss, but this time over his rapid radial pulse. 

“I love you more than I can ever express,” I murmur, looking into his glass, swearing I can almost see his kind eyes. I lean back down and place the most innocent kiss over his hammering apical pulse. I sense this is not the time to push him further into intimacy, so I shift to lay beside him, resting my head onto his right chest, avoiding his injured left arm. His heart beats so rapidly I can hear S1 and S2 ( _sounds of_ _heart valve closure_ ) crystal clear from the other side. I examine the visible pounding, and trace my hand over its point of maximum impulse. His heart falters at my touch but then begins to calm.

“You’re going to start bleeding again if your blood pressure remains so elevated,” I tease and quickly check on his stitches, which look to be holding up well despite my flirtations. 

“And you’re the cause of my high blood pressure, doctor,” he jests back, pulling me back into him.

His breathing becomes more even and rhythmic, and his heart rate slows to his resting pace, gently rasping its faint midsystolic murmur, which I still assess as benign. I fall asleep in the midafternoon sun pouring through the windows, warming me as I listen to the kind heart of my Mandalorian - _the man I love_.


	13. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XIII: Of Temptations and Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din, Halarys, and the Child continue enjoying their time on Deridian X-9, but will it be short-lived?

I slowly awaken to the gentle rhythmic rise and fall of his warm chest, his soft skin beneath my cheek and his heart murmuring its steady rhythm into my ear. I stir ever-so-slightly, trying to sink even closer into him. 

“Mesh’la,” Din sleepily whispers into my hair, his warm breath brushing past and over my cheek. His heart rate steadily rises now that he’s awakening… _and also likely because I had started tracing circles near his iliac crest._

“Cyar’ika,” I softly speak and shift to place a kiss over his heart, continuing to wake up.

I position myself atop him, and rest my chin on my arms, staring up at his stubbled jawline, just barely peeking beneath his helm. I quickly avert my eyes as I don’t want to see too much ( _well I do want to see, but even more so, I want to respect his Creed). But oh how I’d like to bite and then kiss that scruffy chin…_

I move to study the stitches on his arm. The wound looks to be healing well, no signs of infection and approximated beautifully. I place a soft kiss on its periphery. 

“Thanks for fixing me up, doctor,” he murmurs. I can feel the skin of his chest warmly flush and swell with the sweet comment. I blush in return.

“Thanks for being such a good patient,” I purr into his warm, thumping sternum as I place a kiss over his kind, beating heart. “You do keep me very busy, Mr. Djarin.” _He honestly can take a break from acquiring injuries…_

As we rest a little longer in bed, he runs a hand over my back, tracing meandering patterns that send my flesh into delightful goosebumps beneath my undershirt. I’m tempted to drift asleep again, and give into the rhythmic warmth of his breath and heartbeat - to give into the gentle, mortal man beneath the Beskar. I savor the way he trusts me without his physical barriers, save for the helmet his Creed demands. Reluctantly, I pull myself from his magnetic core and glance out the window - the orangy sun is now nearly setting on the mountain range, its light blurring the sharp rocky edges making me think of the damaged ship which we still needed to repair.

 _We had likely napped for a couple hours,_ I judged. I then shift to check on the babe who remains peacefully asleep.

“We should start work on the ship,” Din breaks the silence, his voice now with a tone of authority and echoing my recent thought.

_I suddenly feel restless at his words and realize I don’t like the fact we’d stayed here for as long as we have. It feels like tempting the Imps to find us. And I’m so done with shoot-outs…_

“Good idea,” I agree as I quickly kiss his chest and neck ( _as close to his face as I can get_ ). I snap myself up from the warm, soft bed, throw on my medic bag, and grab my scanner from the sheets before Din rolls over on it, tossing it into my bag.

“With your help, we’ll make some good progress before nightfall,” he confidently surmises, standing up to stretch.

_His muscles dance under that silky skin…_

A naughty urge surges through me and I close the distance between us.

“With my help, I think I might make things a little _harder_ ,” I slowly run my fingertips downward from his neck, over his pounding sternum and strong abdomen, and suggestively down to his belt buckle, punctuating my dirty pun. I look from under my lashes and give a small, devious grin. I watch his larynx jump as he swallows hard at my insinuation. 

“I see,” Din pulls me close and leans down beside my ear. “I guess I’ll have to keep a close visor on you.” And then ** _he briskly smacks my rear_** _._

I yelp, stunned by his sudden forwardness and _not_ because it hurt. _I was so asking for it_ …I start to giggle. He pulls away slightly and looks down as I blush intensely.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks, genuinely concerned his action was too much.

My giggle turns into a laugh and I lean close against his chest. My hand mischievously snakes around his hip and I land my revenge on his tensed backside.

“Hal’ika!” he growls the new nickname, scooping me into his arms which sends me into a snorting fit. He walks us over and gently tosses me onto the bed. I shift to sit up, but before I know it, he pounces, forcing me to assume a recumbent position. His helm moves close and hovers just inches from my face, my breath leaving momentary condensation on the cool metal and dark glass. 

I run my eyes down his visor to his heaving chest and then to his hips. I suggestively raise a brow. My hands reach to graze his lower abdomen and his breath hitches from the sensation. My passion is nearing full bloom from the needy, short breaths escaping his helm.

His dark glass takes in my face and soaks up my intimate, loving touch - touch that reaches far beneath his surface, stirring such fiery desire and passion…but most of all _love_. 

—————

 _He wants to kiss me so badly in this moment that he swears his heart will rupture as it painfully hiccups in his chest from the agonizing longing to_ **_truly_ ** _be with me. He has to catch his breath and attempt reining in the feral rhythm beating within his chest, which dangerously threatens him to give into the temptation of breaking from The Way._

 _But she was The One, was she not?_ he thinks to himself. _Was it not ok for me to show her my face in this case?_

He wishes he could consult The Armorer.

—————

A cooing noise softly sounds from beside the bed. Din’s helm shifts and is greeted by large, curious eyes. My head also shifts to the sound.

“Hey there kid,” he breathes, thankful the little green womp rat broke him from his lovestruck trance. He shifts from atop me, a little embarrassed the kid caught us in such a pose. His blushing rushes all the way down over his pectorals, warming the skin to a hue of warm rosy pink.

I shift upright, coming down from the tense high. When he was over me, I could feel the passion radiating from him…the way he was looking at me was so intense - no visor could hide that fact. _If we hadn’t been interrupted…_

A giggle hits my ears and snaps me to the present. Din has the green bug scooped into his arms, holding him against his flushed, muscled bare chest. The babe carefully stares up at him as if judging his daddy’s naughty ways. I snicker at the thought.

Din clears his throat. “Alright,” he exhales, setting the little monster to the ground. “Time to start repairs.” He shifts and grabs the now mostly dry, but bloody and torn undershirt. 

“You really need to change,” I smirk looking at the mangled material.

“Yeah,” he looks down at the holes and huffs. As he grabs his armor and attaches it one by one, my stomach starts to voice its demand for nourishment.

“Hey green bean, I bet you’re hungry. How about dinner?” I project my own hunger onto the child, but I bet he was hungry as well.

“Why don’t you and the kid stop by the mercantile while I start on the ship?” He reaches into the bag of gems and produces a couple small, sparkling clear stones. He extends his hand and places them in my palm. “We could use a restock of food rations for the synthesizer.”

I’m not familiar with the exact price of such gems, but I have a rough idea it will more than cover food portions for many months for us three.

“I can replenish our medical supplies too,” I smile, looking forward to my shopping.

“Good idea. I seem to be going through it fast enough,” he admits as he slips on his gloves, now donning his full gear, cape and all. The babe’s ear tickles my cheek as I scoop him into my arms

We head out the door, Din locking it behind us. The sounds of the brothel are humming with the evening crowd of patrons. 

We slip past the liquor-laced smooching and scantily-clad lapdancing, and through the front door to the shaded street. Din walks beside me and I can’t resist but shift the sweet babe to one arm and then intertwine my small hand in the Mandalorian’s larger gloved one. I feel so warm and fuzzy. I feel at peace.

His dark glass shifts, looking down at my grip and then up at my smiling face. The child giggles as I start exaggeratedly swinging our arms and Din graciously humors me, slightly shaking his head. _What a saint._

Looking around at the town, I notice the bank’s outer wall is now almost completely repaired, save for an area near the roof-line. _Wow, the people here do not waste any time,_ I think to myself. We walk past a few more buildings before reaching the mercantile, which looks well-stocked through the windows. 

“Don’t go too crazy,” Din squeezes my hand then brings it to his helm as if to kiss it, making me blush a rosy red.

“I can’t help what _he_ throws in the basket,” I kiss the green bean’s soft head and giggle. He coos his retort. “We’ll see you back on the ship in a bit.” 

Din nods and reluctantly turns toward the town’s edge, my hand slipping from his. I watch him saunter away in his signature gait and then remember to breathe. _I have absolutely fallen in love with that man._

“I love your daddy,” I smile to the bean who looks curiously at me. He then chirps in approval. “Let’s go blow these gems, shall we?” I tickle his ear, eliciting a giggle, and fidget with the stones as we make our way up the steps.

It’s an old, pine wood building, and the floors softly creak as we slip past the open front door.

“Welcome!” an older white-bearded man behind the register rasps.

“Good evening,” I smile and nod. The babe’s eyes dance around all the little knick-knacks, foodstuffs, camping gear, clothing, and other numerous supplies.

“Anything I can help you find?” he kindly asks, moving from behind the counter as I grab a basket.

“Any food synthesizer portions?” I take him up on his offer.

“Yes, right this way,” he leads us down a few aisles and directs to the center of the shelf.

“Thank you,” I reply as I look at the fairly decent supply. 

“Let me know if you need help finding anything else. You can find me at the front,” he jovially offers.

I smile and nod as he returns to his post.

My eyes scan the labels. I’m not entirely sure how food synthesizers work, but it appears they used basic foundational components of hydrolyzed carbohydrates, fatty acids, and amino acids along with your choosing of aromatic compounds to build certain flavor profiles such as umami, bitter, trigeminal, etc. that can’t be convincingly replicated by the basic the components. I pick up the shiny cellophane carbohydrate package and read: 

“ _Good for up to 12 servings*_

_…_

_*Actual number of servings varies depending on the type of food prepared._ ”

I huff at the ambiguous information and figure five packs of each macronutrient will last us for awhile. 

I fill the basket with the compact packages and grab one of each of the flavor profiles. The babe reaches out for the shiny packaging, eyes agape at the novel material. 

“Let’s get you a real toy,” I scritch his ear and he coos in response.

I shift and spot a shelf along the wall with a menagerie of cute stuffed animals. I recall Din’s story about how the green bean had eaten a frog and smile as I spot a lime-green forest frog plush. 

“A perfect color too, I do say,” I chuckle to the child as I snatch the stuffie from its nest amongst the other creatures. The babe grasps it immediately and shrieks in sheer delight from the soft fabric and familiar shaping.

My eye then spots a windhound in the crowd. I bend and select the black dog and reminisce about good memories of my Orka and the others.

“I used to have a puppy just like this one. Well, she was much larger, but this one is more your size,” I smile at the babe who gets wide-eyed at the sight of the new stuffed animal. He drops his frog and reaches with gimmie hands to the new one. I laugh and hand him the Orka look-alike. He lets out a squeaking giggle as he hugs it close to him. My heart melts like a hot candle at his happy display. 

_I bet it’s been awhile since you had a real toy_ , I think of his time in captivity and then with Din. _That metal ball is the closest thing he had to being a kid._

I bend over and pick up the frog plush and place it in the basket. _You deserve both stuffies. Hells, he deserves all the stuffies, but we have limited real estate on the ship…_

“Alright, time for my goodies,” I smile and look from the happy babe to the various aisles, searching for medical supplies.

I walk along the shelves, distracted by the array of goods. I grab some protein bars and trail mix along with mixed forest nuts and dried fruits that would make a nice protein-rich snack with healthy fat and fiber. Then I spot a cocoa bar; it reminded me of the candy my mother used to bring home from the city for Life Day. _I’d love to share this with you and Din_ , I think to myself, smiling at the babe who is gently mouthing the windhound’s head in contentment.

I finally spot the medical supplies, which are fairly well-stocked with the basics. I grab a few more (ok like a dozen) bottles of standard bacta, antimicrobial bacta, various bandages, bacta patches, gauze, biofiber thread, and analgesic and antipyretic medications. IV fluids, peripheral IV kits, and more specialized supplies are something I’ll likely have to get from a medical supply store on a more populated planet.

Content with my quarry that nearly overflows the basket, we head to the front. 

“Find everything ok?” the bearded face smiles as I _thunk_ the brimming basket on the counter.

“We found too much,” I laugh, bouncing the green bean, who clutches his soft hound.

“I think you’ll like this chocolate,” the man smiles. “It was my wife’s favorite. She had to have it every Friday night,” he reminisced about his long-gone love.

“We can’t wait to try it,” I smile at his bittersweet sentiment as he packs our bounty in a bag. “Don’t forget to add in this,” I point to the stuffed animal, tight in the child’s grasp. 

“Doesn’t look like he’s about to let go of that without a fight,” the man chuckles as he adds it to the total. “Alright, that will be one-hundred and eleven credits.”

I reach out my hand, offering the two jewels to the man. “Will this cover it?” 

The man looks down and widely grins at the sparkling stones. “Yes, it more than covers,” he selects the smaller one from my hand, leaving the other behind. “Corsillian stone is very rare and very valuable. It’s only found on this planet.” He generously doesn’t rip me off as I’d have gladly and unknowingly given him both for payment.

“Grab a few more of those chocolates and I’d say we’re about even,” he winks and hands me our bags. 

“Wow…thank you,” I smile at his honesty and work to grasp the bags’ handles in one hand.

“Here, I’ll grab the chocolates for you,” he hurries around the counter and hobbles over to the candies, grabbing a handful.

“Thank you so much,” I turn and he places the extra treats into the less-full bag.

“Have a wonderful evening,” he waves.

“You too,” I smile at the kind store owner.

We head out with our bounty and make our way down the steps, crunching over the gravel of mainstreet. The town is now completely shrouded in the dark shadow of the mountain range as the sun sets, nearing twilight. The two moons have yet to crest into view.

I breathe the refreshing cool, piney air and hear music and laughter coming from the cantina. I swear I can hear Greef’s loud voice chattering about how he single-handedly took out a couple dozen storm troopers. I laugh and shake my head at the likely exaggerated tale.

The Razor Crest comes into view, sparks showering from its side as Din welds. He has nearly 75% of its open wound closed. The babe and I make our way through the tall grass.

“Looks like you’re making good progress,” I shout over the buzzing of the tool.

He nearly loses his footing on the ladder at my sudden voice, but catches himself. 

“Woah, Din - I didn’t mean to startle you,” I felt bad for inadvertently sneaking up on him.

“I was very focused,” he breathes and steps down to greet us. _It isn’t exactly how he wanted me to get his heart racing, but he’s ever glad to see me and the kid._

“I might have gotten some extras,” I guiltily warn as he closes the distance.

He pats the babe’s head, who is still entranced by his new stuffed friend.

“I think it was about time he got a toy besides the joystick’s knob,” he chuckles. I notice Din’s undershirt is no longer torn and bloodied - he had finally changed.

“Here, let me take that,” he grabs the brimming bags from my hands and I follow him up the ramp. “Thanks for getting supplies,” he looks over his shoulder at me.

“You’re welcome,” I smile and blush. “And I only spent one of the gems,” I reach out and offer him the leftover stone. 

He looks down at my open palm.

“You should keep that one on you in case you need it,” he softly speaks. “I plan on giving you half of the gems anyway to do with what you want,” he nonchalantly replies.

_Half?? That seems excessive - I really have no use for all of that…besides some more medical supplies and civilian clothing maybe…_

“Din, that is too gener-,” I start as he produces the candies from the bag, distracting me. “Oh those are for dessert,” I smile.

“Never had them before,” he admits, studying the yellow wrapper.

“They reminded me of a childhood treat. I thought we could all try together,” I smile.

“I’d like that,” Din breathes with a smile in his voice. He shuffles through the bags and spies the stuffed frog, chuckling. “This is very fitting,” Din produces the plush.

“You should have seen how wide his eyes got when he first saw it,” I snicker.

“Oh, I believe it,” Din chuckles, continuing through the bags and quickly storing away the supplies in their respective storage areas. “I see my doctor has stocked up on our medical arsenal,” he laughs at the borderline-excessive volume of bacta bottles.

“You’re not allowed to need those anytime soon,” I tease.

“Yes, doctor,” he curtly replies, militarily. His dark glass then shifts to me. “How about I make dinner and then afterward, I teach you welding?”

A smile breaks on my face. “Sounds like a romantic evening: Welding in the moonlight,” I chuckle and set the little bean down. I press the button to shut the ramp and keep the green gremlin from escaping.

Din sets the food synthesizer to prepare the meal. It starts up and aromas of savory spice fills the ship’s belly.

“What are you making?” my head cocks as my nose inhales the novel aroma.

“Yas’han chili,” he responds. “Something I really liked as a foundling,” he seems to reminisce as he scoops the puree into bowls for the child and me. 

_It smells so good._

“I can’t wait to try it,” I smile, salivating at the steaming stew as he hands me a bowl. _I’m starving._

He kneels and sits down near the babe, offering the bowl. The kid smells the food and instantly drops his stuffie, waddling to the heavenly dish. 

I blow on my spoon and take a bite. _It’s absolutely delicious. It’s spicy but very rich in other flavors. It’s amazing how the synthesizer can do this…_

“Do you like it?” Din now hovers over me, my bowl now half gone.

“Oh my gods, it’s wonderful. Thank you, Din,” I continue to devour my portion as the Mandalorian chef chuckles. The babe has his face in his bowl, eating as fast as a greedy windhound. I laugh at the sight.

Din sets a wide straw in his portion and drains it down quickly. He then efficiently sucks down a couple glasses of water. I’m glad to see him hydrating.

He then hands me a glass of water and I gulp it down, rinsing the residual spiciness from my mouth. My nose runs a little.

Din notices and smiles. “It’s a spicy dish,” his voice is heavy with a grin as he hands me a cloth.

“It’s fantastic,” I wipe my dripping nose. _Phew._

Din swoops in to clean up the green bean before he can dirty his new toy and I grab the babe’s bowl, setting it in with the others and start the dish collector’s wash cycle. It hums and whirs to its task.

The Beskarian father then hands the babe both his windhound and frog, and the bean’s little, freshly cleaned hands clumsily grasp both. With his new friends in tow, he waddles to the corner, plopping down. He makes both jump up and down like frogs as he happily giggles. It brings a smile to my face seeing him as a happy kid. My eyes shift to his handsome dad.

“Repairs, then cocoa?” I smile at Din.

“You really do own my kar’ta,” he closes the distance and reaches past me to open the ramp. I rest my hands on his chestplate, staring into his dark glass. 

“Alright, doctor, back to business,” he orders, opening the ramp. He turns to the child. “You stay here,” he directs the little womp rat, who is too busy with his new friends to pay any attention. Din shakes his head and we both chuckle.

We turn and start down the ramp; the moons have now crested over the craggy range, casting their sleepy, cool yellow light into the valley. The ramp hisses closed behind, leaving just Din and me.

Din bends down and offers me the metal tool. “Ready to learn?”

I grasp the welder from his hand.

“Kriff,” he suddenly remarks.

“What’s wrong?” I look at his twinkling glass.

“I forgot, I don’t have a welding mask for you,” he shares disappointedly. “I don’t want you to damage those beautiful blue eyes of yours,” he blushes at his over-sharing.

I notice his shyness and pounce.

“Beautiful eyes, huh?” I close the short distance and look up into his dark glass, tracing my fingertips inside the concave design in the center of his cuirass.

\-------------------------

 _Yes, she completely holds my kar’ta in those small, skilled hands_ , he thinks. _The way her eyes still managed to pierce their vibrant blue-green color through the moonlight and into my visor is breathtaking and heart-stopping - eyes that almost don’t seem human. The silver of her braided hair highlighted by the soft glow of the moons tugs relentlessly at my heartstrings. This woman has such power over me…I will gladly and willingly give her all of me. I trust her. I_ ** _love_** _her._

_\----------------------------_

I kiss the side of his helm and he holds his hand over mine. I feel his heart racing like the river’s rapids, strong through the Beskar.

“Cyar’ika,” he whispers. “You can rest while I finish if you’d like.” 

“I can at least hand you tools if you need,” I offer and kiss the sliver of wrist peeking from the edge of his glove. “Oh! I can tell stories!” I think of my time in medical school and all the strange things I’ve seen… _not sure if he’s into detailed case studies of endocarditis caused by rare parasitic infections though_ …

“I’d love to have your company,” he replies, voice bright with a smile.

I hand him back the welding tool and he gently takes it from my hand and turns to continue his handiwork. He grabs another tool: Some type of large pliers. He uses the pliers to work at the serrated metal, trying to straighten it back into place. 

“Are you sure I can’t help?” I ask, studying his technique.

“How about next time?” he responds through gritted teeth, working out a very kinked edge.

“Sounds good,” I look to the ground. “Want to hear about my time in medical school?” 

He glances over his shoulder, “Definitely, cyar’ika.”

“Really?” I double-check, excited he seems interested.

“I want to know all about you, mesh’la,” he reassures, with visor still looking in my direction.

“You asked for it,” I warn, laughing. He returns to his task of straightening the metal as I begin my story. “Well, I started undergrad at age 17 and finished in 3 years. I always wanted to be a physician like my mother, so then I applied and was accepted into medical school, the same university my mother taught at.” 

“I bet she was proud,” Din breathes, still working hard on straightening the metal before welding the last bit.

“She was my biggest fan. But she was also a little sad I didn’t choose her specialty of general surgery and trauma,” I reminisce. “I actually had a difficult time deciding on a specialty…I hated neuro - too complicated and too much grey area. Disliked endocrinology. Oncology was boring because customized bacta infusions cured any cancer in mere hours. Renal was also a bit monotonous - dialysis for a day or two and then a custom lab-grown kidney was transplanted. Transplant in general was interesting, but I didn’t necessarily want to be limited in job locations by which hospitals were transplant centers. Pulmonary was alright, but a bit too focused. But cardiothoracic surgery - which I could still assist in both heart and lung transplants, complete trauma surgery for any thoracic injury, open heart surgeries and lung procedures…now _that_ was my calling.” 

“Cardiothoracic?” he glances over to me. “Well, I believe I left my kar’ta in the care of the right woman.”

“And I will make sure to take very good care of your _kar’ta_ ,” I chuckle at his cheesy, yet sweet joke. 

Sparks from the welder rain down from the ship’s side.

I continue my stories, recalling some of my most bloody and harrowing cases, particularly the direct manual cardiac massage in the ER of a Gungan shocked by a stun gun - I had my hands in his chest all the way into the surgical suite while cardiopulmonary bypass was started (33 minutes I’ll never forget). And the Devaronian male with an active vibroblade piercing clear through his upper left chest, which miraculously missed all major arteries and organs (he grew impatient and ended up removing it himself and leaving against medical advice, but did completely fine as he later called the hospital and apologized for his gruffness).

Din listens intently, thoroughly enjoying learning a little more about me as he makes good progress mending the ship.

“Hey Mando and Rys!” Greef’s voice sounds from behind us.

I turn and see Cara’s with as well, holding him steady. _He’s had a bit to drink._

“Th-here’s a woman at th-the cantina who…sh-she knows s-someone who’s h-heard about the m-magic hand thingy…th-he Force,” he hiccups.

Din’s attention is fully drawn to Greef as he turns and hops down the ladder.

“Is this true?” Din walks over and turns to Cara for confirmation.

“It is,” she affirms. “The woman said there’s word of a monk who practices the Force. They’re not a Jedi, but may have trained a couple. This monk hasn’t been seen in months, but her friend last spotted them in Dee’ja Peak on Naboo.”

“Y-yes, wh-what sh-she said,” Greef blinks heavily.

“Is that all she said? Does she know more?” Din’s voice sounds almost desperate as he looks over to the cantina.

“That’s all she claimed she knew,” Cara replies, holding Greef upright now. 

“How did you find this out?” Din demands.

“This one couldn’t help but loudly share some stories of the little green monster’s magic tricks,” Cara tattles on her compatriot.

“It g-got us some g-good in-info d-didn’t it?” he stutters. 

“Alright, buddy, let’s sleep this one off.” Cara turns him back toward town. 

“Thank you,” Din nods at them.

“Try to give him some water,” I chime as they trail off. _I probably should have started a banana bag on him…_

Din stands still, staring off into the distance toward the town, seemingly in shock at the news. I’m a little shocked myself.

 _Could it be someone who could train the child…and me?_ I think, feeling a strange twinge of fear mixed with hope prick at my diaphragm.

“Din,” I reach out to his shoulder and he snaps from his stoic stance. His hand comes to rest over mine and dark glass glints in the moonlight.

“We should leave as soon as I finish repairs,” he murmurs, mind made up.

I nod in agreement. _We’re already months behind on the monk’s trail. But something tells me Din’s bounty hunting skills will help us make quick progress._

“I’ll go gather our belongings from the inn,” my eyes shoot back toward the town. Din hands me the room key and then starts to undo his forearm gear and offers it to me. I look down and outstretch my arm as he slips it on. _It’s far too big and would easily slip past even my balled fist, but it’s surprisingly lightweight…and still warm from his body heat._

“Press these two buttons in this sequence and the pod will follow,” he demonstrates. “Just don’t press any of these or you might lasso something you didn’t intend,” he further instructs.

“Got it. Just these two buttons,” I smile. I lean and give him a quick kiss on his cowl. “Maybe I’ll lasso you later,” I purr under the edge of his helm from my tippy toes and giggle.

He stands up real straight and clears his throat, caught off guard by my comment. _His heart falters at the husky rumble of my voice and thought of_ ** _me_** _reeling him in with his own whipcord…_ he looks down at my sly grin unable to shake the thought away, chuckling slightly. 

“See you soon, my naughty cyar’ika,” he growls back and smacks my rear, earning a snort from me.

“I’m so lassoing you for that,” I threaten with a laugh, tapping the vambrace, as I turn away to head into town.

“I’d like to see you try,” Din playfully shouts back, watching my moonlit backside firmly bounce as I walk through the knee-high grasses. 

\----------------------

 _Yep, my kar’ta is truly hers - she has wrapped her delicate fingers around it and won’t let go_ , he thinks, watching Halarys’ lovely form grow smaller as she walks farther away. _And I’m the happiest I’ve ever been for it._ He acknowledges the revelation of finding his happiness with the physician and the child _._ And he cherishes the delightful fluttering in his chest that remains despite his cyar’ika’s departure. 

_I_ ** _truly love_** _her, and how she loves the kid and me._ He sighs in contentment.

He sets back to his task of repairs, relishing the yearning in his weathered soul, which now seems less tattered since her healing hands have rested upon it. A smile forms on his face, hidden by his helm as the welder sparks against the hull in his hands, mirroring the sputtering electricity brimming in his core.

\------------------------

I make it back into town, walking down the gravelled mainstreet toward the inn, thinking of Din’s low voice and soft touch. I can still feel the playful, yet brisk smack on my buttock. 

_Naughty, sweet, handsome Mandalorian…oh how I love you._

As I draw closer, I notice the brothel is even busier now with patrons and workers on the front porch. Thankfully, the brunette from earlier looks quite busy with her customer as I make my way up the steps, brushing past the handsy necking and slurping. 

_But to be completely honest, it kind of made me even lustier for Din._

I make my way up the creaky stairs and to the door. I unlock it and flip on the lights.

.

.

.

I gasp at the unexpected sight:

The bed has been flipped over and all the cupboards and drawers opened. I notice the window is open - likely their point of entry. 

_._

_._

_._

My nerves are set on edge as I scan the room for any signs of the intruder or intruders still being present. 

_Fuck - what were they after?_ I reach into my bag and draw my blaster.

I glance into the bathroom, which is dimly lit from the bedroom’s light. I hear shuffling.

“Who’s there?!” I demand, pointing my blaster toward the room. “I’m armed!” I warn the intruder.

“Please d-don’t shoot,” a woman’s soft voice meekly begs.

Keeping my blaster drawn, I cautiously approach the room and reach to flip on the light.

An older blonde woman, in a white robe sits curled over in the bathtub, hiding her face.

_She seems eerily familiar._

“Who are you? Why are you in our room?” I demand, lowering my blaster away from her non-threatening form.

“ _He_ needs the Child,” her head lifts from her knees and her piercing blue-green eyes lock on mine.

My blood runs cold and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on-end, my pulse growing thready. 

.

.

.

_This isn’t real…it can’t be…_

_._

_._

_._

“Mother?” I exhale, feeling faint.

\----------------------------

  


[Originally posted by klassyfeels](http://tmblr.co/ZMhOoh2n2pNEu)


	14. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XIV: Separation and Acquaintances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does Halarys really find her mother - or is there something more sinister at play?

I stare, my ears ringing and blood running coldly still, at the sight of the woman who’s a spitting-image of my mother. 

Suddenly, the ghost leaps up and rushes past me, nearly knocking me over. I try to follow suit, but before I know it, she’s through the window. I race over to the opening and scour the dark, moonlit landscape for her form. 

.

.

.

But nothing.

.

.

.

She’s vanished into the dark cloak of night. And it’s over a few meters down… _how could she have jumped?_

I stand frozen, staring out blankly at the eerie moonlight trees, with mind whirring, desperately trying to grasp onto reality.

_Had I hallucinated the entire thing?_

My mother is dead. 

I couldn’t have seen her…it’s not rational. She’s been long gone, over a decade. We had a funeral and I mourned her - I cried for months. I still cry sometimes…she must be dead. She is dead.

.

.

.

_Or is she?_

Thoughts race through my mind at the lack of concrete closure to her passing. We never had a body - only a quick, cold hologram from some random official of the Empire. 

_Can it be…that she’s alive?_ It just doesn’t seem believable…she would have found me. She would have come back for me.

She wouldn’t have abandoned me!

Perhaps she had been held captive, against her will and she escaped recently? Whoever I had seen, she seemed unwell.

 _What did she mean by “_ ** _he_** _needs the Child?”_ My mind instantly wanders to Gideon…I then recall the sick fondness he seemed to have for my mother. It makes my stomach churn and my chest flare with anger.

_Did he brainwash her? Is she somehow working with him?_

There are so many unanswered questions. But if she’s somehow involved with Gideon, that means the Imperials are already here.

_Fuck!_

We need to get off this planet, _fast_. My mind leaps to Din and the child. I need to get back to them **now**.

I scurry to grab my blue dress and throw it into the empty pod. I quickly inspect the sleeper for any signs of tampering or tracking devices. It looks clean, but I’ll have Din give it a once over as well.

I tap the buttons on the forearm control panel as Din had shown and the pod follows along. I shut the door behind, closing off the room of disarray, and run down the stairs. Dawnarae looks up at me from her desk.

“Someone broke into our room,” I inform the hostess.

“My dear, are you ok?” she gasps at me with concern on her painted brows, stepping up from her seat. 

“Yes, I’m fine. The room is…a little overturned, but intact,” I rush the conversation and hand her the room key. “We must be on our way now,” I insist. “Thank you for everything,” I shout over my shoulder, brushing through the lusty brothel crowd. I run down the front steps and the pod follows my quick pace as I sprint down mainstreet toward the ship. 

I _don’t_ see the sparks of his welder. Panic hurls its chaotic weight at my stomach.

I force my legs to work faster, breaking through the tall grass as my lungs work at full capacity to take in the cool night air. 

The Razor Crest’s ramp is open.

“Din!” I yell, gasping as I make through the grasses and into the clearing where the ship rests. “Din!!”

No response. 

_Fuck!_ Panic screams through my chest. 

I finally make it to the ship and find Din’s welder laying in the grass, next to a small pool of what looks to be blood.

_His blood._

I reach and feel it’s lukewarm, indicating the event occurred likely less than a couple minutes before.

 _Gods dammit!_ Tears of rage brim my eyes and I race inside to look for the babe.

“Bean?!” I yell, searching everywhere for the little monster. My eyes chaotically shift around the ship’s belly.

His little stuffed animals sit alone in the corner. 

_No._

Panic completely takes control and I fall hard to my knees. I know the Imperials have them. Din could already be dead and the child already being experimented upon. _How scared the little one must be!_

My panic turns to raw, unbridled rage as I hear a ship’s engines roar nearby - the distinct sound of an _Imperial_ spacecraft. I race outside and watch as it ascends from over the treetops. 

I want so badly to follow in the Crest, but I don’t know how to fly.

My eyes watch its trajectory over the north-northeastern edge of the sky as it disappears from the atmosphere.

I can’t fly, but I know someone who can. I race back into town, faster than I’ve ever ran, the empty pod following me faithfully - a sore reminder of losing my family. 

I rush into the cantina. 

“Cara!! Greef!!!!” I yell above the chatter and music. “Cara!!” Patrons shift their gaze to my raucous.

 _Did they get them too?_ My heart plummets.

“Quiet down, Doc,” Cara’s voice shushes me from behind.

“Cara!” I turn, tears brimming. “They took them. They have them,” I hyperventilate.

“Woah slow down, Doc. Who took what?” she leans in, face fixed on mine.

“The Imperials have Din and the kid!” I make my words precise and force myself together. “I need you to fly in pursuit.” 

Cara nods and goes to grab Greef, who now looks a little more sober.

“Why do we gotta leave?” he clumsily asks.

“Because the Imps took Din and his kid,” she huffs, forcing him along.

“Oh that’s not good,” he stutters.

We rush out and make our way back to the Razor Crest. 

Greef trails behind in his inebriated state. Cara rolls her eyes exasperatedly and falls back. She doesn’t hesitate and lifts Greef into her arms.

“What are you-?” Greef starts.

“You don’t wanna fight me right now, old man,” Cara growls at him.

“Ok,” Greef submissively squeaks.

We run up the ship’s ramp, and I order the pod to the corner. I press the button and the ramp hisses closed.

“They took off in a north-northeast direction just a few minutes ago,” I inform Cara, who sets Greef on the bed.

She nods and skirts up the ladder to the cockpit. The Crest’s engines roar to life and I follow up the ladder to join the ex-rebel. The weight of our ascension drags my already heavy gut to new lows…

_I will do anything to get them back. I will get them back._

_\----------------------  
_

“Hurting the Mandalorian elicits a response from the Child. We can use this to our advantage,” the vaguely familiar voice penetrates Din’s ringing ears. His helmet is still on, which provides him some sense of relief as his disorientation settles.

 _His foundling._ _Where is he?_

He starts to panic, arms and legs tensing against tight restraints. A melodic beeping crescendos in his ears, matching the pounding rate of his frantic heart. 

“But this wasn’t our agreement,” a nervous, also familiar male voice meets his ears. Din’s vision starts to clear and the man comes into focus. 

_Dr. Pershing._

Din recalls the man who had experimented upon his foundling - rage rumbles through his aching chest and the beeping grows faster.

“You will do as you’re told, doctor. Respect his wishes for the helmet. All other requests are to be disregarded.” The voice now pairs with a face:

 _Gideon_. The moff turns with a smug smile on his face as he walks out the door.

“What did you do with the kid?” Din weakly demands through quick, shallow respirations - it’s excruciating to take a deep breath from the pain in his ribs. He briefly recalls being shot from behind while welding the ship.

“He is safe and no harm will come to him,” Dr. Pershing looks Din straight in the glass. His eyes shift over electrodes and wires for ECG monitoring and down to the angry blaster wound grazing his left ribcage. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been shot and I’m being kept against my will,” Din huffs through gritted teeth, the beeping growing faster.

“Your heart rate is getting too high,” the man’s glasses shift worriedly to the monitor. “I need to give you a sedative,” he shakily inserts a syringe into a bottle and draws up the liquid.

“Don’t you kriffing touch me,” Din snarls, heart rate climbing into the 180s BPM and blood pressure into the 160s/110s mmHg.

“I’m truly sorry,” he apologizes, his brow furrowed and beaded with nervous sweat, as he injects the contents of the syringe into the IV line leading to the crook of the Mandalorian’s arm. Din almost instantly feels drowsiness sweep over him, the warm and heavy sensation spreading calmness throughout his chest; the chaotic beeping slows its pace.

“Please,” Din whispers before falling into blackness.

.

.

.

Dr. Pershing feels like he’s going to vomit as he watches the helpless man, strapped upright and bleeding - the man who had graciously spared his life just months before.

\---------------------- 

“How is the tracking going?” I impatiently ask Cara for the dozenth time, nervously fidgeting with Din’s vambrace, still on my forearm.

“As I said before, I have a trace signature that a ship entered hyperspace here, but the trajectory is still unclear,” she flips at some switches and studies that cryptic screen.

“Fuck,” I grab at my hair and pace. “What if Din is-?” 

“Kicking their asses and protecting the little monster?” Cara finishes my sentence, trying to stay positive. “Mando is a tough one…even if I’m tougher.”

I scoff at her horrid joke. “There was quite a bit of blood,” I remind her, shaking my head in disgust.

“Could have been an Imp’s,” she shrugs.

“It was his,” I assert.

“Well, I wouldn’t question a doctor,” she backs off. 

A beeping emits from the screen, drawing her attention. 

“Got ‘em,” Cara smirks.

“You got their location?” I lean in and peer at the stupid undecipherable screen.

“Yes…well, 97.7% sure. I’m setting the coordinates now.” She flips and buttons and switches. “Brace yourselves!” she shouts.

The stars streak across the black sky as we catapult into hyperspace. _A flicker of hope within my chest grows a little stronger now that we’re moving again._

“An old trick from my shock trooper days,” the ex-rebel snickers. “I use photon displacement algorithms, which are normally used to prevent collisions,” she smiles to herself, proud of her skill.

I can’t resist but lean over and hug the beautiful tall brunette.

“Thank you Cara,” I breathe a sigh of half relief. _I just hoped we weren’t in the 2.3%._

“Don’t be getting too soft on me yet. We still have to catch up,” she looks ahead. “The Razor Crest isn’t exactly the newest or fastest ship in the galaxy,” she smacks the dashboard. “It could take an hour or more to reach them.”

 _An hour…or more?_ My gut sinks. Time is vital. But instead of wasting it fidgeting and fretting, I go to check on Greef. 

_We’ll need all the help we can get once we catch up, and it’s about time I get him sobered up._

_\----------------------_

Pain sears through Din’s arm, jolting him awake. It’s the same area that had just been stitched earlier that day… _or is it still the same day?_

The beeping sounds in his ears again, reminding him of his grim reality. 

“There he is,” Gideon grins. “Why don’t you smile for the kid behind the one-way glass?” he gestures with a bloodied scalpel to the one-way window about a couple meters away. Din can see the angry blaster wound in his side and the large, bleeding cut in his arm just created moments before. 

He stares at his own pathetic form for a few moments. 

_His son is seeing him like this. And there is_ **_nothing_ ** _he can do about it._

“What are you doing to him?” Din demands, diaphragm shaking. He coughs, tasting the metallic tang of blood, bitter on the back of his tongue. The contraction of his ribs triggers a sharp, excruciating pain at the blaster wound site.

“Don’t worry about the kid. We’re helping him achieve his full potential.” He wipes the blood from the scalpel with a blood-stained cloth. “It’s _you_ you should be more concerned about.” His eyes menacingly lock onto Din’s visor.

“Do with me what you will, but leave the kid alone,” Din growls at Gideon, tensing at his restraints.

“I think it’s about time you meet my beloved,” Gideon taunts. “I think you’ll find her…familiar,” he cryptically foreshadows with a wicked grin on his face.

“Send Dr. Stilarys in,” Gideon orders at the door.

Din watches through blurred vision as the door reveals a strikingly familiar figure. 

.

.

.

_It can’t be._

.

.

.

“Halarys?” Din gasps under his shaking breath.

“Close,” Gideon throws a glance at Din.

“Shrapnel lodged in the right bicep, near the brachial artery, correct?” her piercing, almost nonhuman, blue-green eyes cut right through his visor and then shift to Gideon.

“Yes, my love,” he affirms. 

_What the hells?_ Din thinks as he studies the woman. He can now tell she’s much older than Halarys, with a huskier voice and a few more inches in height. _But she looks so much like her._ Then it dawns on him: _She has to be her mother… but isn’t she…_ ** _dead_** _?_

“Let’s get to work,” her face remains completely stoic as she reaches for a scalpel and approaches his intact arm.

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Gideon sneers over his shoulder with eyes lingering lovingly at the woman. She briefly looks over her shoulder and sweetly smiles.

Her eyes shift back and fixate on Din.

“Let’s get this out before it nicks that artery,” her face is expressionless as she brings the blade’s edge to his skin and slices carefully, methodically, and deeply into his exposed flesh.

He holds his breath as long as he can, but a scream of agony escapes his lips from the searing, almost all-consuming pain. He chest heaves uncontrollably.

She tsks at the briskly beeping monitor. “You’re not going to last too long if we keep going at this pace. Please let me help you, soldier.” 

Din catches his painful breath. “Please, if you love your daughter…she thinks you’re dead,” he gasps as he eyes the long, jagged scar, almost hidden by her hairline, telling of an old and significant head injury.

“My daughter?” she seems to change mood in an instant. “Halarys?” she withdraws the scalpel and looks at her hands with confusion and then at Din with fear.

“Halarys…,” Din’s shallow breathing is becoming more shallow and the room starts to spin. He hears the beeping of the monitor as his pulse thumps swiftly.

“Dammit Catalia, continue your procedure - your patient needs you,” Gideon’s voice sounds over the intercom.

It snaps her from the foggy memories of her daughter. “Ah yes, we must be removing that shrapnel now,” she goes back into a robotic state, playing over old procedures in her head.

“Please,” Din pants, his head swimming in hot, dizzy misery.

She slices deeper into the already primed incision - the excruciating pain is too much and Din cannot hold back his cries of pain. His hoarse screams burn his aching throat as hot blood coats his mouth.

“Very good Catalia,” Gideon’s voice sounds. He leaves the intercom on so Din can hear the angry, fearful cries of his foundling. 

“Leave him alone!” Din snarls between his delirious cries of pain. “Please, leave him alone!” The lights in the room suddenly seem a hundred times brighter, like a blinding desert sun, and his ears ring like the high whine of a speeding spacecraft.

“You have to remain calm soldier,” the blonde woman places her hand over his sternum. 

The feel of the hand on his chest reminds him of Halarys. His heart rate and respirations plateau and slowly downtrend for a few brief moments as he thinks of her gentle, caring touch and drifts into a daze.

“Very good, now let’s continue,” she positions the blade back over the gaping, bleeding incision.

“Please, no,” Din tries to plead, much like one of his countless bounties, trying desperately to escape their inevitable fate. He feels shame and weakness for even letting the words pass his lips. His son is watching - he has to stay strong.

She completely ignores his request and slices deeper through muscle tissue, carefully exposing his artery and brushing against raw, sensitive nerves - it sends unrelenting waves of excruciating pain pulsing through his arm, precise and controlled, unlike any knife wound he’d endured during spars. It’s unbearable. It’s unraveling him. He suddenly can’t hold back the raspy, blood-coated screams that fill the room and resonate down the hall. He tries to think of the kid…he tries to regain composure. He tries _desperately_ to regain control. But there’s none to be had. Only pain and his son watching him bleed and scream in agony. He feels his heart jump against his ribcage, then falter and skip uncontrollably. His chest begins to heave even more heavily and the room starts to fade. The beeping monitor chimes warnings as his cardiac impulses become more dysrhythmic, finally entering atrial fibrillation from the immense strain.

“There…got the bugger,” she plucks the imaginary foreign body from the exposed muscle tissue and motions to plunk it into an empty metal basin.

Din’s helmet slumps forward as he passes out.

\---------------------- 

“Ouch,” Greef shoots me a pathetic look as I insert the peripheral IV.

“You need fluids,” I remind him.

“Oh, ok,” he becomes agreeable again, studying my hands. “Mando loves you,” he says without a filter, eyes looking down at me.

I smile, blushing slightly.

“And I love him and the child…which is why I will do anything to get them back,” I breathe as I connect the banana bag to the tubing and work to hang it from the pipes - the same pipes I had hung bags for my _stubborn_ metalhead.

I shift and sit on the edge of the bed - the bed where Din and I had slept together. The bed where I had fallen asleep to _his_ heartbeat, a heartbeat that I feared was either fading or already gone. 

Panic blooms again in my chest at the thought of losing him and the sweet child forever.

“We’ll get them back,” Greef pats my hand. “Mando is a skilled bounty hunter. He can take on some Imps,” he tries to reassure.

“I hope you’re right,” I stare at the wall, longing to feel Din’s gentle breath on my hair, to feel his strong heartbeat dance beneath my fingertips, to stare into the dark glass of his helm, to smell his leathered, blaster smoke-scented armor and to trace the silky, scarred skin beneath, to hear his voice softly call my name, and to hold our precious child in my arms - _our_ little green bean. 

\---------------------- 

Din awakens to the steady beeping of the ECG monitor that stiffly reminds him of his whereabouts - his head is still ringing. He notices the pain in his side and arms has substantially improved.

His vision blurry at first, comes to focus on the slight form of the unassuming Dr. Pershing.

“Is the kid ok?” Din wheezes.

“Oh, you’re awake,” the man with over-sized glasses meekly steps closer. “The Child is just fine,” Pershing feels sick at recalling the sight and sounds of the Child earlier, whose eyes were pleading with tears and lungs screaming hoarse cries as he desperately tried to protect the Mandalorian.

“I heard him crying. What are you doing to him?” Din manages through still painful breaths. _It’s getting harder to draw a satisfying breath_.

“He was distressed seeing you in pain,” the scientist looks down shamefully, studying his own feet. _He absolutely loathes seeing the Child in distress, but there’s nothing he can really do to stop it. He tells himself that convincing the Imperials to keep the Child alive is the best he can do under the circumstances. But perhaps there is more he can do…_

“I treated your wounds,” he tries to change the subject.

“What are you going to do to the child?” Din can barely breath, the ache in his chest grows into what now feels like the sharp bite of a vibroblade near his thundering heart and he can hear the monitor’s beeping grow even more chaotic. 

Dr. Pershing’s glasses immediately glint at the ECG monitor, which displays tell-tale atrial fibrillation on the green ECG line, tachycardia (183 BPM), hypotension (BP 85/50 mmHg), and hypoxia (SpO2 of 81%). He was 95% certain he knew what was causing these signs. 

_If only the damned Imperials invested in an internal scanner for him, he’d be 100% certain._

“Mister…um…Mandalorian,” Dr. Pershing didn’t know his name. “Are you still awake?”

“Unfortunately,” Din hisses, trying to breathe.

“Are you having chest pain?” the man’s eyes shift to the shallow, hurried breaths straining the Mandalorian’s intercostal muscles.

“Among other things, yes,” Din grits, trying to catch his breath. He curses his damned helmet for the first time in awhile.

“I think you have a pulmonary embolism,” the slender man rushes to grab a vial of thrombolytic from the supply cupboard.

“Kriff, are you going to slice me open too?” Din’s heart pounds and skips painfully beneath his sternum, fighting to deliver oxygen around the clot in his lung and causing the incessant beeping to grow to an even more rapid, uneven pace.

“Not quite…I…um…I need to administer some medications to break up the embolus,” the man’s large glasses glint in the exam lights as he draws up the first line of treatment. He quickly works to grab the Mandalorian’s IV line and injects the medicine. He judges the benefits of treating the embolism far outweighed the somewhat likely risk that the Mandalorian bleeds out from his recently stitched, still healing injuries. He flushes the line with 30 cc of saline to ensure the full dose makes it into his vein.

“Why are you helping me?” Din’s helm almost drunkenly follows the man’s hands. He begins to feel lightheaded and his helm starts to slump.

Dr. Pershing gulps as Din’s SpO2 drops to 73%. 

“Mr. Mandalorian,” he leans in. 

.

.

.

No response. 

.

.

.

He takes note that the Mandalorian’s heart rate has somewhat improved (150s BPM), but he isn’t out of the woods.

“Hey…um…Mr. Mandalorian!” he tries his best to be louder and more assertive. “Can you hear me?” He prods at his patient’s chest. “Mr. Man-!”

Din suddenly wakes from his near-fainting spell, jumping against his restraints. It sends the slender scientist scrambling backwards, and crashing into the instrument tray, scattering metal instruments in a metallic frenzy across the hard floor. He lands with a thud.

The doctor tries to calm his own breath as he watches the monitor, which shows an improved SpO2 of 86% and climbing. The Mandalorian’s vitals return to less worrisome numbers and his ECG shows a healthy sinus rhythm (albeit still tachycardic at 120-130s BPM). 

Din feels less anxious now he can draw a deep, satisfying breath without crushing pain. The room comes into clearer focus again.

“I need to administer another medication to prevent another embolus from forming,” the physician picks himself from the ground and groans from the pain from falling on his backside.

“Why are you helping me?” Din croaks through the fermenting blood in his mouth, keeping on his original question.

Dr. Pershing reaches into the cabinet and prepares another syringe.

“Orders,” he shortly replies. _Gideon had_ _wanted to keep the Mandalorian alive and alert for more “sessions”._ He walks over and grabs the IV line, sticking the needle in the access port and injecting the anticoagulant. He then grabs a syringe of saline to flush the tubing. 

_The scientist starts to feel even more on-edge, but if he’s to act, he needs to do so now_. 

He leans in, pretending to adjust the V1 and V2 leads on either side of the Mandalorian’s sternum and feigns monitoring the screen. 

Din looks down to the fumbling man’s hands, wondering what the kriff he’s doing and feeling a growl start to form in his chest from the unwanted proximity.

 _What primitive equipment the Imperials possess_ , the doctor briefly thinks, but brings his thoughts back to his true task. 

“I want to help you rescue the Child,” he whispers nervously into the side of the Mandalorian’s intimidating helmet, trying his best to look like he’s still fiddling with the electrodes. He can feel the Mandalorian’s heart pound forcefully beneath the leads at his words. The angry growl forming earlier suddenly dies in Din’s chest.

“Why should I trust you?” Din murmurs back, shocked by the scientist’s admission.

“Because I don’t want to see the Child harmed,” Dr. Pershing looks Din directly in the visor. _He hates his task of experimenting upon the innocent babe. He hates himself for doing it, but he’s too cowardly to outwardly resist for fear of his own life…that is until now._

“There, that tracing looks much better,” Pershing says at a normal volume, studying the monitor. 

The scientist bends to upright the metal tray and pick up the mess of instruments skewed upon the floor from his startle. He tucks a scalpel against his wrist and walks over to pretend to fuss with the Mandalorian’s IV line. Din watches his movements intently. Dr. Pershing rests his hand on the Mandalorian’s, slipping the metal instrument into his fingers, careful not to cut him. The doctor’s glasses lock onto Din’s dark glass and the Mandolarian gives the faintest of nods. 

“Your armor is in the third drawer,” the Pershing whispers and abruptly turns to leave, hearing the steady, rapid beeping of the Mandalorian’s heart. 

_Pershing’s_ _own heart is pounding in his throat. He is actively betraying his own captors and will likely be shot dead for it, but it is all worth it to save the innocent Child - the last natural being of his magnificent, misunderstood species._

_\----------------------_

“Cara, are we any closer?” I impatiently return to the cabin and stare at the shock trooper.

“It’s difficult to say - it depends on if they’re still at hyperspace or landed somewhere,” Cara turns to look at me.

“Wait - still in hyperspace?” I grab my hair and pace, anxiety tightening its wicked grip on my guts. “What if we’re too late?” I cannot help but still feel the stickiness of Din’s rich blood on my fingertips.

 _He needs me and I’m_ ** _not_** _there for him_. I then think of the babe, crying in fear. _They both need me._

Cara’s eyes meander from my sullen face to the back of the cockpit as her own fears creep into her mind. _But that damned buckethead is always alright in the end, right?_ she tries to reassure herself, but recalls the standoff with Gideon on Nevarro. She had almost lost her friend there - _but she isn’t going to let it happen this time either._

Beeping from the screen shrieks and snaps Cara around and she studies the screen, flipping at switches and jamming at buttons. 

“Brace yourselves!” she yells as she takes the ship from autopilot and we lurch from hyperspace. 

A large star station appears in front of us. It was Imperial. I couldn’t believe it had survived the Rebellion. My rage returns to full force, the electric energy courses over my skin and burns hot in my core. I give into the sweet, tempting sensation.

 _I welcome it_.

My greatest chance at getting Din and the Child back is to embrace the Force. 

_I am desperate…I am dangerous._ I am prepared to do _anything_ to save them.

Cara watches and swears she can feel the ominous energy coursing from within me.

“Take us in,” I direct. “Let’s show these assholes who they’re dealing with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HATED writing the torture scenes. It absolutely twisted my guts and made me feel sick. Poor Din! I love him & I love the Child & I love Halarys. I actually lost sleep over it. But things will turn out ok in the end, right? Right??
> 
> Thank you for reading my horrid writing (:


	15. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XV: Dr. Stilarys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Halarys, Cara, and Greef make it to Din and the Child in time?

Din’s heartrate doubles when the doors shuffle open.

Gideon enters, eyeing his prisoner.

“Looks like we already got all we need from you,” he intently stares at the strapped-down Mandalorian. “A shame really. I felt like we were just starting to get to know each other. If it’s any consolation, you’re helping Halarys’ mother.” His face falls to a look of longing or something akin.

 _What does he mean by “helping”? He seems to be brainwashing her, or encouraging her deranged sense of reality,_ Din thinks.

“Alright my love, go save a life,” Gideon orders over his shoulder.

The older blonde woman enters the room, in a fresh, white lab coat, her hair now up in the same, unique braid as Halarys.

“Cardiac tamponade?” she looks immensely worried, studying Din’s vitals - seeing false readings floating around in her head.

“Kriff,”Din curses under his breath, feeling panic prick his heart. _That sounds major, and I don’t exactly want to find out,_ he decides _._ He has to break loose and soon. No longer can he control his now racing heart, giving away his fear through the monitor’s accelerating beeping. 

“Yes, that sounds like a serious enough procedure,” Gideon smiles at her and then coldly peers at Din. “Do whatever you need to save him, Dr. Stilarys,” he gently grasps her shoulder and she turns to kiss him tenderly on the lips.

“I’ll update you as soon as I’m done,” she assures fussing with his uniform’s collar. He looks into her eyes and then leans to kiss her forehead. 

_What the hells did he do to her?_ Din felt ill thinking about how Halarys would feel seeing her mother like this. _Who in their right mind could love that sadistic Imp?_

“See you soon my dear,” he says as he turns and walks out the door, and she lovingly watches him leave.

“Alright soldier, time is of the essence,” she turns and walks over to some drawers and begins searching around. 

Din quadruples his efforts on the strap that holds his arm tight. He finally works the scalpel’s blade to a better angle and saws away. He’s thankful the remnant Empire is using cheaper, older means of leather rather than metal for the restraint.

Catalia grasps her tool of choice. Din freezes when he sees the _very_ long needle being screwed onto a syringe. 

_Why a kriffing needle?_ he curses in his head, working even faster on the thick, leather restraint. His heart thumps even quicker, drawing the insane physician’s attention to the bleating monitor.

“I need to relieve the fluid around your heart, soldier,” she speaks stoically as she draws closer.

The damn restraint is stubborn and Din isn’t sure he can break it in time.

She looks at his chest and places her chill hand to feel for his left paraxiphoid area, to the bottom left of his sternum. 

_Kriff, it’s barely loosening._

He watches in panic as she angles the long needle above his chest and toward his heart. 

He knows he can’t reason with her, so he focuses his efforts on the tough strap.

“It will all be ok soon, soldier,” she looks Din in the glass with her aquamarine gaze, and for a moment, his mind tricks him into seeing Halarys. Her gaze then drops to the needle.

\-----------------------

“Are you sure this is a good spot?” I impatiently ask, fidgeting with Din’s vambrace as my nerves sing on-edge with electric energy. The ex-rebel shoots me an irritated sideways glance as she pilots the ship to hover, cautiously landing us over the flat surface that supposedly houses some large air ducts. She seals the ship’s underhatch to the station’s outer hull with a loud metallic _clack_. Given our continued existance, the Crest hasn’t yet been detected by Imperial technology. My energy is simmering, just waiting to kick into a rapid boil as she kills the engines. 

“Stick to the plan, Doc,” Cara orders in her shock trooper tone. She had laid out the best plan of attack with Greef and me after she’d scouted the bay’s layout from a distance, determining it was too obvious of an entrypoint and we’d quickly be overwhelmed. In her shock trooper days, she’d become roughly familiar with this kind of starbase and had determined that our best chance involved entering from an improvised entrypoint.

“Doctor?” she growls from above as I rush down the ladder, demanding confirmation I’ll stick to the plan.

I can’t make any promises - I will do _anything_ to get Din and the kid back. But I know I have to be smart about it.

“Affirmative,” I snap back a little more harshly than intended as I swap out Din’s vambrace for the dark sabre and an extra blaster from Din’s arsenal. I holster the blaster in my med bag for now, but keep tight hold of the blade with my bloodstained fingertips. My eyes linger on Din’s dried blood, blood that shouldn’t have been spilled. _I should have been there._ My knuckles turn white as energy spurts and burns with a hot rage in my chest. They turn even whiter as I think of the child in fear. _And I want, no demand Imperial blood and fear in return - I will make them regret fucking with my family._

“Ready?” I gruffly speak at Greef as I slam the weapon locker shut. He’d finished his IV infusion just minutes before and is looking back to normal vigor.

“Yes,” he confidently nods, blaster already in hand.

Cara loosens the hatch and its metal hinges protest open. I activate the dark blade and glance at Cara for the go-ahead. She nods.

_Din and Bean, we’re coming. We’re coming._

I delve it into and through the hull, slicing with relative ease through the metal and creating an irregular oval for our entry. The metal falls and clanks to the floor, heated edges fading from glowing orange to black. 

“What the?!” proclaims a very confused stormtrooper peering up at us, scrambling to aim his blaster. 

Cara whips her’s forward and quickly shoots him down.

“Ok, so my calculations were a little off…,” Cara grumbles, cocking her head and glares at me. _It isn’t exactly a quiet air duct._

“I’ll go first since I’m wearing Beskar,” I assert, looking to Cara, sheathing the blade and holding a blaster ready in my grasp. I kneel and jump down, trying to avoid the body and land on my feet with a thud. Turning with blaster aimed, I peer around the fluorescent-lit white hallway- it’s clear, but it likely wouldn’t be for long. I motion Cara and Greef down.

“Stay together,” Cara reminds as she hops down, followed by Greef who lets out a low groan as he lands.

“I’m fine,” he assures, “just a little stiff.”

“Ok, so we’re currently in the periphery. Labs and containment cells are typically central. We need to move inward,” Cara instructs, directing with her hand a military signal for onward.

It made me think of my own escape from the Imperial facility that held me captive and forced me to complete research. _And now, here I am breaking into one…but for damn good reason._

“Stop there and drop your weapons!” A droid’s voice orders. I recognize my father’s models from anywhere.

I turn and quickly volley fire at its chest, the location of its main power core. The blaster doesn’t penetrate deep enough and it begins returning fire at us. 

“Fuck,” I huff as we retreat, firing behind us as shots hit my armor. Cara manages to knock out one of its blaster heads, leaving it with only one in its metallic grip. We slip around a corner to a new hallway and promptly run into a handful of stormtroopers who immediately take aim and start firing.

“Back to back!” Cara orders and we group together. Greef and I fire at the white troopers and Cara awaits the droid’s approach. Plasma spatters off my armor as we shoot one of the three troopers down. I can now hear the mechanical walk of the droid rounding the corner and I slip Cara my blade.

A shot barely grazes my right leg, but the hot pain is very noticeable. 

_It sets me off like a powder keg._

Energy brims and explodes from my core as I break formation, everything around suddenly becomes more clear. Arms extended, I grip each trooper’s wrists, twisting the weapons from their grasps and earning cries of pain from the crunching of metacarpal bones breaking and tendons snapping. I savor each sound that escapes their bodies. Keeping my invisible grip, I flick my wrists, slamming them into either side of the hallway, likely snapping their necks. They fall limp. The vengeance feels exhilarating.

I turn and find Cara has beheaded the droid. _That also effectively disarmed the model._

“Come on, let’s move!” I snarl, now even thirstier for more blood.

Cara looks at the downed troopers and nods her head. “Nice work,” she smiles.

“Woah, what? You can do the magic hand thing too?” Greef blurts in utter surprise, eyeing the incapacitated troopers as we pass. 

_I forgot he hadn’t known._

“Let’s get Din and the kid,” I instruct as I quicken my pace, the insatiable hunger for revenge boiling in my veins.

\----------------------- 

_Kriff._

He feels the sharp prick of the needle delve into his chest, sinking deeper and deeper. He dares not breathe - he cannot breathe. A sharp pain stabs dangerously near his racing heart. 

_Kriff, did she just_ ** _pierce_** _my heart?_ He panics, paralyzed by the breathtakingly sharp, aching pain in his chest from the needle. 

“Steady soldier, just a few more centimeters to go,” she places her hand on his shoulder and looks into his visor.

 _A few_ ** _more_** _?_ The beeping of the monitor picks up speed as she steadies the needle for deeper insertion.

He takes one more slice at the stubborn restraint, which suddenly snaps free.

Immediately, Din roughly pushes the blonde woman back with his freed arm. She stumbles and falls on her side.

“Soldier!” she protests, grunting from her impact on the ground. 

Din looks in horror at the needle deep in his chest and pulls it out, trying his best to maintain the same angle used to insert it. 

“Kriff,” Din mutters under his shaking breath as the long needle slides from his chest and he drops it to the floor. His heart rate spikes, the rapid beeping fills the room.

“Soldier, I need to help you,” the blonde doctor pleads, trying to lift herself up, but hisses in pain as she tries to use her wrist.

Before Catalia can get up, Din unstraps his other arm and then works on the large strap holding his shoulders steady.

The woman finally lifts herself up and approaches Din.

“The cardiac tamponade could kill you,” the crazy physician tries to reason with Din - in her mind she’s working to save his life. She turns and rummages through cabinets looking for a sedative to calm her dying patient.

Din frees his shoulders and then works on the straps around the ankles of his boots. He watches as she draws a liquid in a syringe.

She turns, eyes locked on Din. She slowly moves closer with the needle, hands out in front of her as if trying not to spook a scared animal.

“I’m going to give something to calm you,” she gently reason as she draws closer.

The left ankle strap comes undone. He works on the last strap, trying to ignore the tightness building in his chest. 

She lunges at him with the sedative. 

The final strap gives loose at the last moment and Din just dodges the needle’s trajectory. Catalia falls against the angled metal table in a huff.

He rips the IV from his arm, tears off the blood pressure cuff, and yanks the wires from his chest, leaving some of the sticky white electrodes behind in his rush. The incessant beeping finally shifts to a continuous flatline tone. 

The blonde woman turns. “Soldier, I need you to lie back down. You are seriously injured,” she orders at Din, again coming at him with the sedative. Her piercing blue-green eyes try to calculate how to administer. She lunges again.

Din swerves and grabs her hand as she struggles to stick him. He turns her arm downward and the needle pierces her thigh. He pushes the plunger, emptying the contents. She looks up at him, eyes wide, shocked by his actions. 

Din holds her tight as her eyes flutter shut and her head slumps against his heaving, aching chest. He holds her for a moment. He can feel her warm breath on his skin, reassuring that she hadn’t overdosed. He gently sets her down, careful of her head. 

_This woman, however mentally disturbed, is still Halarys’s mother._ He doesn’t want to harm her.

He works to catch his breath and rubs at the growing, tight pain beneath his sternum. His heart aches for a entirely different reason as he glimpses his reflection in the one-way glass - the glass behind which his son had been forced to watch his torture.

 _He needs to find his foundling_. But first, he requires his gear if he’s to stand a chance. He glances at the drawers and rushes over to locate his armor, which is in the third drawer just as Dr. Pershing had said. 

_Those dumb Imps left my weapons here too_ , he almost laughs to himself at the sight of his faithful blaster and vibroblade amongst his armor. He quickly armors up, still trying to catch his breath. Shooting pain reverberates deep within his chest, but he tries to ignore it. 

_I’m coming kid. I’m coming._

_\-----------------------  
_

Cara motions us back as a rumbling, boisterous voice comes into earshot. We peek around the corner.

“And then, with the blaster aimed at my junk, she said: ‘Hey man, I ain’t cheap. Give me your speeder bike.’ So I obliged and watched that saucy Trandoshan ride off with my heart,” the middle stormtrooper enthusiastically shares, sending his compatriots into a cackling fit of laughter.

“Now _that’s_ a story I’d like to hear more of,” Greef quietly chuckles as we withdraw our eyes from around the corner.

“Ok, you take out the middle one,” she orders Greef who almost pouts. “I got lefty and the doc has righty. Got it?”

We nod, blasters at the ready.

“On my mark,” she holds up a hand and flicks her wrist as our signal.

We whip around the corner and fire at each of our respective targets before they even know what hit them. They fall in a limp heap.

“The containment cells should be just down this hall,” Cara motions. 

I think I start to see doors and my stomach flops. 

_We’re coming for you and the babe, Din. We’re coming._

\-------------------------

Now back in full gear with blaster in hand, Din leans against the edge of the room’s door as he gestures it open. He bursts through with blaster aimed at any enemy in his way. 

Dr. Pershing gasps, and nearly falls backward as Din suddenly appears. He works to catch his breath.

“Where’s the child?” Din lowers his blaster away from the trembling man.

“He’s just down the hall,” Dr. Pershing raises a shaky hand to point, but he’s very glad to see the Mandalorian has managed his escape.

“You’re coming with,” Din reaches and grabs the scientist with over-sized glasses.

“Oh, uh, ok,” the doctor gulps as Din gruffly pushes him forward.

“Thank you,” Din reluctantly huffs. _He still doesn’t like Pershing, but he doesn’t exactly hate him. He’d very likely be dead by now if it wasn’t for the Imp’s assistance._

A sudden grip of pain tears again at Din’s chest, nearly knocking him off his feet. He stumbles and steadies himself against a wall, trying to catch his breath, his gloved hand clawing over his Beskar-covered heart. 

“Kriff,” he pants, helm staring at the ground trying to steady himself as the hall starts to see-saw.

“What’s wrong?” Dr. Pershing approaches. “Are you having chest pain again?” He notices the obvious area of discomfort.

“Yes, but it’s different than last time,” Din grunts. “Dr. Stilarys had stuck a needle in my chest…something about cardiac tampon-something.” He painfully pants, attempting in vain to catch his breath.

“Cardiac tamponade?” his glasses grow worried.

“Yeah, that sounds like it,” he painfully exhales, crumpling over from the sharp grip around his heart and lightheadedness. He can hear the weakening rush of his own blood in his ears.

“I need to fully examine you…this could be quite life-threatening,” he meekly tries to order, expecting a backhand or at the very least a very firm ‘no’.

“Kriff, do what you need,” Din impatiently groans, knowing he can’t help the kid if he’s dead, and death is starting to feel like a real possibility.

The scientist looks up, surprised the Mandalorian had been as easy to convince. 

“I’m going to take a look at your neck,” he eyes the Mandalorian’s cowl which rests above his heaving chest. The helm growls for a moment then nods. The scientist’s trembling hands pull the fabric layers back to expose the Mandalorian’s neck. Obvious jugular venous distention stares back at him and he gulps. He next reaches with two slender fingers for the carotid pulse, which is weak and racing - another hallmark of cardiac tamponade.

“I need supplies,” the Imperial doctor eyes another nearby exam room. “Can you move?”

“Maybe,” Din shortly replies, working hard to obtain oxygen and feeling his heart wildly palpitate. He has to remain calm. _He needs to make it for the kid…and Halarys_.

“Over here,” the doctor directs, grabbing at the Mandalorian’s arm and guiding him over to the empty, new exam room.

Din grumbles as the pain worsens (as if that was even possible) and his surroundings spin. He feels like he’s going to pass out as he finally crosses the threshold and the doors swish shut behind them. He suddenly can’t make it any farther and his legs give way. He collapses face-first onto the ground.

“Oh heavens,” Dr. Pershing nervously curses. “Mr. Mandalorian?”

“Fix it,” Din croaks, struggling to turn himself on his back and pawing at his chest.

“Yes,” the slender man shakily nods. He rushes over to the medical supply cabinets and produces the supplies he’s fairly certain he’ll need.

“You need to remove your cuirass and expose your chest,” Dr. Pershing orders as he fumbles for antimicrobial, bacta, a long 16 gauge needle and a 60 cc syringe, which he’s confident he’ll need if his suspicions are correct. He grabs perhaps the most outdated of all medical instruments to aid in his diagnosis: A stethoscope. 

_The Imperials really are cheapskates._

He turns to his patient, who has managed his chest armor off, and rolled up his undershirt as instructed. He places the earpieces in his ears.

“What the kriff is _that_?” Din annoyedly huffs at the novel appendage hanging from the physician’s ears, pain squeezing at his heart.

“I need to listen to your heart sounds to confirm my suspicions,” he leans in and places the diaphragm on the Mandalorian’s panting chest, over the second intercostal space, right sternal margin. Din jumps slightly at the cold suddenly on his chest. 

“Sorry,” the scientist cringes. “Try to breathe normally,” he instructs. The Mandalorian’s helm shifts and Pershing can feel his annoyed glare. 

_Breathing normally is nearly impossible, but Din tries his best to steady his breaths._

The doctor focuses intently, trying to hear the aortic valve of S2, but it sounds very distant. He moves the diaphragm to the second intercostal space, left sternal border listening to the pulmonic valve sounds of S2, which sounds muffled as well. He works down to the tricuspid valve, at the fourth intercostal space, left sternal border and listens for its closure on S1 - it’s distant. Finally, he auscultates the Mandalorian’s mitral valve at the fifth intercostal space, midclavicular line, barely hearing it during S1. All heart sounds were distant and that confirmed his initial suspicion. He removes the stethoscope from his ears and drapes it around his neck, sweat beading on his anxious brow. 

“I’m almost 100% certain you have cardiac tamponade,” he looks Din in the glass. “Likely from when Dr. Stilarys punctured your pericardium, the membrane around your heart. The anticoagulant for treatment of your pulmonary embolism likely contributed to bleeding into this membrane and the pressure of this blood filling the pericardium is now squeezing your heart, preventing it from pumping effectively,” he tries to explain in as simple terms as he can.

“Just fix it,” Din demandingly growls at the man, grimacing in pain under his helm.

Pershing quickly reaches for the antimicrobial and pours it over the left paraxiphoid area. _He isn’t exactly a cardiothoracic specialist, but he knows enough to get by…at least that’s what he’s convinced himself._ He rinses his hands in the solution and opens the needle, shakily screwing it into the syringe.

Din watches through blurred vision at the nervous scientist and prays to the Maker his fumbling hands don’t hasten his death.

“You’re going to feel a pinch,” Dr. Pershing warns as he angles the needle ~15 degrees to the Mandalorian’s skin above the left paraxiphoid space and aiming toward his left shoulder. He tries to steady his quivering hands… _he could very well kill the Mandalorian if he’s off…he doesn’t have a scanner to make certain of his position, so he’ll need to slowly advance and aspirate along the way to confirm…which is dangerous._

“Just do it,” Din impatiently huffs, the knife-like pain in his heart growing unbearable and the room spins faster.

Dr. Pershing inserts the needle, right as the unmistakable shuffling of multiple pairs of feet sound outside.

Din instinctively (and weakly) aims his blaster, ready for a fight as the door whooshes open.

\----------------------

FYI, here’s the saucy Trandoshan to which that trooper was referring:


	16. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XVI: Saving the Heart of the Mandalorian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What will happen to Din and Dr. Pershing?

“Din!” I gasp, immediately spotting him on the floor as the door rushes open. My thirst for revenge dissipates at his sight and his trigger finger loosens at mine.

The blaster slips from his hand. _Am I hallucinating her?_ his dizzy head considers for a moment.

“Halarys,” Din rasps so low, his modulator doesn’t pick it up. His vision starts to fade in and out as he suddenly feels more relaxed, comforted by my presence.

Cara and Greef rush in behind and the door closes.

“Woah,” Greef blurts, doing a double-take at the scene. 

My eyes grow to the size of swamp melons as my brain continues to register what’s going on: A slender Imperial scientist holds a needle in Din’s chest, which also dons a large healing graze-injury from a blaster along the left side.

“What the hells is going on?” I demand as I close the distance, ready to swat him away, but I don’t dare for fear of jostling the precariously positioned needle. I already have a faint idea what’s happening given its angle. 

“Cardiac tamponade due to recent penetration by a needle…uh…status post recent thrombolytic and anticoagulant treatment for pulmonary embolism,” the nervous man’s quivering voice quickly reports, confirming my suspicions and raising a thousand and one more questions.

“Godsdammit, let me take over!” I sneer at him, whipping out my scanner to confirm the diagnosis. “Din, I’m here,” I gently reassure, grabbing his gloved hand and he squeezes back in response. _He’s responsive - thank gods._

_What the fuck did they do to you?_

“Dr. Ristania?” The nervous doctor’s voice suddenly sounds more familiar. _And he’d recognize my irritated tone from anywhere. My striking resemblance to Dr. Stilarys isn’t lost on him either._

“Pershy?” My eyes briefly glance at my long-lost colleague - a geneticist. I had only interacted with him over the intercom on more than a dozen plant hybridization projects, never actually seeing his face. “A little out of your league practicing cardiothoracics?” I jab at the scientist, but thankful it looks as though he was onto the correct treatment plan despite not specializing in the area. 

“He’s the Child’s best chance. I had to try,” he nervously wrings his hands. 

_He knows the Child too? And wants to help? I’m not entirely surprised…he always seemed highly empathetic._

I quickly focus back on the scanner which displays around 200 mL of bloody fluid accumulated in the pericardium and the needle’s tip still five centimeters from the membrane. Dr. Pershing’s diagnosis was indeed correct. Din is dangerously hypotensive (79/59 mmHg) and tachycardic (170s-190s BPM). His poor, collapsing heart rapidly flops around in the blood-filled sac from the lack of support and sends readings of electrical alternans (very odd ECG readings) to the scanner. I slip my forefingers under his glove to his radial artery, which maintains a very thready and worrisome pulse, but a pulse nonetheless.

“I’m glad…to see you,” Din almost inaudibly murmurs through panting breaths, trying to lift his head to better see me. 

_He’s still conscious._

“Din, you’re going to be just fine,” I reassure, looking into his dark glass. I need to work fast; and, although, I’m tempted, I don’t want to risk testing out my gift on his heart - I’ll use my medical expertise to fix this. 

“Pershy, lift his legs,” I order, nodding down at Din’s lower extremities. He needs all the blood he can get to his vital organs. My ex-colleague quickly gathers Din’s lower legs and raises them slightly. I set the scanner over his cardiac apex to visualize the proper entry. I then quickly rinse my hands with the antimicrobial solution and gently grasp the syringe.

“Din, you’re going to feel some pressure,” I warn as I steadily advance the needle deeper to pierce the pericardium. “You’re doing great,” I smile at him trying to maintain my own composure as I proceed to aspirate 60 cc of the bloody fluid. Thankfully, his heart’s function immediately improves from the partial-release of pressure, and its chambers are now much less compressed, which allows Din to breathe easier. 

“How are you doing, Din?” I ask to monitor his mental status.

“Much better,” he breathes, glass trying to look at me.

“Good,” I smile at him as I unscrew the syringe and spurt the blood on the floor, earning a brisk “What the fuck?” from Cara and a disgusted face scrunch from Greef. I need to keep moving and don’t have the luxury of a fresh syringe at the ready.

“Just a couple more go’s,” I inform him as I very carefully rescrew the emptied syringe back onto the needle. I draw up another 60 cc, unscrew and again empty his deep red blood onto the floor. _I try my best to remain in doctor-mode, fighting back tears in my eyes. My poor Din._

“Pershing, you can set his legs down now,” I glance at the scientist’s large glasses, satisfied at the immediate improvement in vitals. I go for the final amount to aspirate, drawing off another 50 cc. He requires a little residual fluid for proper cardiac function. 

“Hand me the antimicrobial bacta,” I eye the bottle on the ground. Dr. Pershing instantly hands it over. I draw up 30 cc in the needle-less syringe and then flick it to remove any air bubbles. I reattach to the needle and inject 20 cc into the pericardial sac. This should prevent infection. 

“Grab me a 10 cc syringe,” I order to Pershing as I snatch the general bacta from my bag. 

He fumbles up and over to the cabinets and rummages for the item. Cara eyes the tall, nervous doctor; her innate reaction to hate any Imperial is strong, but it dulls at the sight of him helping her friend. The ex-rebel shifts her gaze back to Din.

“Is he ok?” Cara looks down at the scanner, seeing her friend’s heart literally on display. She smiles at the stubborn Mandalorian, seeing his head motion toward her.

“I’m fine,” Din grumbles, slightly irritated at the audience to his exposed chest. Cara shifts her focus to me.

“He’ll be just fine,” I report as Pershing hands over the requested syringe.

“Oh Mando, that is great news,” Greef loudly exhales as if he was holding his breath the entire time.

Din rolls his eyes under his helm at the Guild leader. He’s already feeling much better. He resumes watching my skilled hands, so thankful for his cyar’ika, so impossibly happy to see me despite the current circumstances and pain. _Mesh’la_ , he thinks to himself as my kind, bright eyes focus determinedly on my task. He knows everything is going to be alright.

I draw up 10 cc of the general bacta and unscrew the larger syringe to attach the smaller one. I inject around 5 cc into the pericardial sac and slowly retract the needle while injecting the remainder along the way until the needle’s tip finally exits his skin. This bacta would heal the penetration site and stop any more bleeding within the pericardium (ie, it should combat the effects of the anticoagulant). His heart’s chambers were now within normal limits and no residual damage apparent, save benign mitral valve regurgitation (the origin of his murmur). 

_He’s healthy and very much alive._

“We’re done,” I smile to Din, studying his now returning-to-baseline vitals. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I had a needle in my heart,” he almost groans. 

“Near your heart,” I correct and kiss Din’s chest, just above an electrode, evidence of an ECG. _Yes, the remnant Empire are derelict cheapo-s._

Dr. Pershing blushes at my action, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and clearing his throat. _Oh, they’re together_ , he realizes. 

“We should get moving,” Cara averts her eyes from our affection and shakes her head a little. Greef just stares, a little bit jealous.

“Din, are you ready to move?” I ask.

“Ready to rescue my foundling…and shoot some Imps along the way - yes,” he replies, lowering his shirt and replacing his cuirass.

“We should get going,” Dr. Pershing agrees. “The Child is being kept down the hall,” he motions us to follow.

Cara glares at him in distrust. “How do we know we can trust this Imp?” she grumps, looking him up and down like a new punching bag. Dr. Pershing swallows the hard lump forming in his throat at the strong woman’s dagger eyes. 

“Because he saved me,” Din doesn’t hesitate vouching for the man as he lifts himself from the ground and I steady him. I place my scanner against his ribs, confirming his vitals remain stable. 

Dr. Pershing shakily nods his gratitude and his glasses shift to the shock trooper. Cara sends the physician one last stink-eye as she closes the distance and grabs his arm to follow. 

“Alright Imp, show us where to go,” she huffs, bringing them both toward the door with her blaster at the ready. The door swooshes open, and Cara peeks over, confirming the coast is clear. 

“The Child is just down a few rooms to the right,” he squeaks. Cara pulls him along behind her and Greef follows. 

Din is now steady on his own. His vitals remain normal and his heart beating as strong as ever.

“Let’s get the kid,” he breaks away, walking determinedly ahead.

I slip my scanner into my bag and activate the dark blade. 

_Here we come Green Bean._


	17. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XVII: The Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will they make it to the Child in time and escape the Imperial starbase?

Din and I catch up to Greef, Cara, and Pershing down the sterile, fluorescent hallway. I keep a close eye on the Beskar warrior just to make sure he’s truly stable and the bacta was inducing proper healing. 

_If he had been any other patient, I’d have ordered strict bed rest for at least a six hours to keep his heart from overexertion. But I know it would have been a moot point - the stubborn metalhead will risk his health, especially when it comes to the kid. But I don’t blame him - I’d do the same for the little green bean. In any case, Din would be getting a_ **_thorough_ ** _followup exam later…_

“The Child’s the third door on the right,” Dr. Pershing quickly directs as he trails slightly behind Cara and Greef, his stethoscope bouncing with his steps.

Din picks up his pace and takes the lead, running to the door with cape billowing behind. I pick up my pace to follow, dark blade at the ready. Cara drags Dr. Pershing along at a faster rate and Greef trails at a slower trot. Din studies the door with haste.

“Open it,” Din’s visor-gaze impatiently orders the jittery scientist as Cara urges him forward.

Pershing slips Cara a pathetic glance. _He’s more than willing to help - he doesn’t need the manhandling._ She nudges him again and Pershing quickly reaches to scan his handprint on the access pad. 

The door swooshes open.

In a blink, Din rushes in. I follow from behind, my eyes scanning the dimly-lit room for the babe.

.

.

.

_The exam table is empty._

_._

_._

_._

Din’s demeanor turns from militant to panicked in an instant. He begins searching every corner for his foundling, opening drawers and overturning desks. I feel my own heart pick up its pace with fear as I retract the blade and place it in my stachel. Cara and Greef watch Din with wide, worried eyes as they cross the threshold with Pershing. The door closes behind.

_The babe isn’t here._

“Pershing, where’s the kid?!” Din growls at the scientist, who himself looks completely shocked at the discovery the Child is not here.

“This was the room he was being kept,” the slender physician urges, nervously shrugging his shoulders. 

Din quickly closes the distance and roughly grabs the doctor by his collar, his dark glass gleaming menacingly in the dim lighting, demanding the truth. He feels his blood pressure steadily ticking upward.

“I swear…this is the room,” Dr. Pershing gulps behind his glasses, hearing the strong grip of Din’s leather gloves tighten and his stethoscope _clink_ against the Mandalorian’s angrily-heaving Beskar cuirass.

“Hey, Din, enough,” I grab his tensed shoulder. _I trust Pershy. He would be telling the truth. The man is too nervous to lie, surely Din can see that._

A few tense moments pass and Din’s vice-grip loosens, setting the shaking scientist free. 

_Where is the kid?_ Din’s mind races at a speed that matches his heart’s as he imagines the Imps hurting or doing worse to his foundling.

“Maybe the little monster escaped?” Cara offers and Greef nods.

“He was being kept sedated between sessions,” Dr. Pershing shoots down their idea. _I feel hot anger flicker inside me at the idea of experimentation on the innocent babe._

“Where else would they be keeping him?” Din’s voice rumbles threateningly, looking the scientist dead in the eyes as he leans in to intimidate a straight answer from those over-sized glasses.

“Well…I’m not -,” Pershing begins as the door suddenly slides open. Our eyes collectively shift to find a familiar figure…

“It’s a Nevarro reunion!” Gideon’s pompously sarcastic voice booms throughout the small room. A blonde woman appears at his side holding the babe face-down and hovering a large bore needle above the base of his skull.

.

.

.

My jaw drops at her presence. 

.

.

.

“Mother?” I stare at her in shock, my eyes again seeing the ghost, my brain trying to process.

 _It can’t be_ …I stand frozen. A half dozen black stormtroopers then appear and line up behind Gideon and the woman, their blasters aimed at each of us.

“Something tells me you were looking for this guy,” Gideon gestures at the sedated child in my mother’s grasp.

“Don’t you harm him!” Din snarls, taking a step forward, feeling molten rage erupting within his core. Gideon trains his blaster on Din’s neck, halting his movement.

Cara has her blaster aimed at my mother’s head and Greef’s is honed in on Gideon’s, ready to take a shot. 

Gideon’s eyes slide over to me. “Dr. Ristania, I do believe you have many questions running through your mind at this time,” he chuckles at my look of utter disbelief seeing the woman standing beside him. 

_She’s supposed to be dead…but here she is. Alive. I_ ** _had_** _seen her that night…I wasn’t crazy,_ I recall back to finding her in our room at the inn on Deridian X-9.

“Mother,” I attempt to draw the woman’s attention - she looks like she’s in a daze. She keeps her eyes trained on the needle, hovering about five centimeters from the child’s nape. 

“Mother! It’s your daughter, Halarys!” I speak with more attitude like a moody teenager this time - _that had been my age the last time I had seen her_.

The woman’s blue-green eyes slowly move upward, meeting mine. They soften in recognition. “Halarys?” she exhales.

“Mother!” I instinctively go to meet the parent I thought I had lost forever. Plasma blasts char the floor at my feet before I can take another step, severing the reunion.

“Dr. Stilarys, complete your procedure,” Gideon orders. My mother looks at him and her face struggles with the order. She looks at me again. _Stilarys is my mother’s maiden name…part of my namesake._

“Dr. Stilarys, your patient needs that nerve block,” he orders again, voice laced with annoyance, as he keeps his blaster aimed at the Beskar-less area of Din’s upper chest. Her face strangely falls emotionless, and she looks at the small green form in her hands. 

“Ah, yes. We need to make him more comfortable,” she says, playing the procedure in her head, the needle closing in on his brainstem… _NOT the correct place for a nerve block_.

Din’s heart leaps against his sternum with panic as he’s unable to do anything but watch as Gideon keeps his blaster aimed to shoot him down instantly.

“Nooooo!” A loud scream escapes my throat. The room brightens tenfold and energy sweeps over my skin and bursts in my core. 

Before I know it, I grab my mother’s wrist with invisible grip. She cries out in pain, dropping the needle just before it can nick the babe’s soft, green skin. 

“Catalia!” Gideon shouts angrily at her cry of pain, momentarily distracted. It’s enough time for Din to act. He quickly grabs the Imp’s blaster, which fires into the ceiling, and roughly plows the Moff into a couple of the troopers before they can hail fire.

Cara and Greef open fire at the other dark troopers, knocking down a couple instantly and Dr. Pershing takes cover behind an overturned desk to shield himself from the return fire.

I grab the kid from my mother’s arms and curl around him.

“Hey, bean, it’s ok,” I whisper to his sleeping face. Thankfully he’s breathing steadily and appears unscathed based on the completely intact skin that’s readily visible.

I look over at the woman, who’s now seated on the ground, red blaster fire dancing around us. I try to get her to follow me to cover. 

“Mother,” I reach for her arm and she looks at me, holding her wrist - that’s when I notice a large scar on her forehead, near her hairline. Her face becomes completely fearful feeling my hand on her arm and she tears herself away like a frightened animal, withdrawing herself from the battle scene as she buries her head in her arms and begins rocking back and forth. 

“Mother!” I try to plead. “Mother!” I grab at her arm and she lashes out with a violent swipe at my arm and returns to her rocking, reminding me of the drendel. But this was more than just fear of my energy. Her repetitive movements, the withdrawal - she’s also suffering from what appears to be some sort of PTSD. My heart breaks at seeing my once strong mother’s spirit now broken into something almost unrecognizable. 

_What had happened to her?_

The shooting ceases. 

I look up and see Cara, Greef, and Din had taken care of the dark troopers whose bodies now lay on the floor - Gideon’s isn’t among them.

“Kid,” Din falls to his knees beside me and I hand him the child. He tenderly strokes his foundling’s soft head. 

“Gideon got away,” Din grimaces, holding his side drawing in a hissing breath. I now see the blood soaking his undershirt over his left ribs, right were the blaster injury had been. 

“Dammit Din,” I quickly reach for my scanner. “You’re hurt again.”

“We need to get out of here _now_ ,” Cara orders. “More will be coming.”

_Fuck._

“Pershy, can you assess Din?” I reluctantly ask for help - I need to help my mother up now. The shaky scientist rises from behind the desk and closes the distance. I hand off the scanner. “Check for hemothorax, cardiac effusion, and ensure no major vessels are compromised,” I order and he largely nods, his stethoscope also swaying in agreement.

I shift my attention to my mother. “Mother, please get up,” I try to gently speak to the curled up woman. My voice has no effect. Panic balloons in my chest.

“Mother - it’s Halarys,” I try to get her to focus on me. She keeps rocking and doesn’t acknowledge my presence. I gently try to open her closed arms, but she won’t open up - she’s as tight as a rock mollusk. “Mother, it’s your daughter, Halarys. Please.” I kneel to her level. “Mother.”

I feel a hand on my shoulder. “We need to go,” Greef pleads.

I look back at the older woman. “Mother!” I yell at her. “Please,” I beg her. Greef lifts me up by the arms as tears well hot in my eyes.

“We can’t leave her!” I sob.

“Doctor, she doesn’t want to come,” Greef tries to reason with me.

“She doesn’t know what she wants - she’s traumatized,” I sob as Greef ushers me to the hall. _I know I don’t have the luxury of time on my side, but I still don’t want to leave her. She’s my mother._ ** _My mother_** _. All these years, I thought she had been dead - all the agony of mourning her and feeling alone in the galaxy. Turns out, the mother I used to know is likely gone, replaced by the damaged soul in front of me._ I feel a deep sickness stir in my gut at the thought of her suffering.

“We’re about to have company real soon,” Cara growls. I now hear the footsteps of what sounds like very large, very mean droids.

Pershy has Din’s arm draped around his slender shoulder with scanner against his ribs, monitoring his vitals, and Din’s other arm tightly grasps his foundling. _He isn’t going to let his foundling go again._

“This way,” Cara leads us away from the crescendo of marching metal coming from some off-branching corridor down the way.

I take one last look at my mother’s rocking form. _I’m abandoning her…but I have to save my new family._ I fought back more tears from forming. _We need to leave…_ ** _now_** _._

We slip down the hallway, following behind Cara with her blaster at the ready. 

Blaster fire zooms past. 

“Halt! Drop your weapons!” The low voice of one of the two large, boxy droids demands. I’m not familiar with this particular model.

“Here!” Cara orders us to duck into a hallway on the left as we dodge blaster fire and we huddle down together. 

“How’s Din holding up?” I glance at Pershy, trying to see the scanner readings to distract myself from leaving my mother, but I can’t make them out from my angle.

“BP and pulse steady,” he studies the scanner and nods. Din grumbles at us talking over him, and looks down at the still-sedated babe. 

“The Child is healthy too,” Pershing assures. I want more details about Din’s status, but these droids are closing in.

“Surrender!” rumbles the creepy robotic voice.

“You got a plan?” Greef shoots a look at the ex-shock trooper. Her eyes search around for a workable solution and her eyes fall to my bag, the blade’s handle partially outside.

“Hand me the blade,” Cara urges me. I draw it from the satchel and she quickly grabs and activates it.

“You and Greef, cover me,” she orders. I grab my blaster, my muscles tense and ready to fight.

“Surrender now!” The droid continues its prerogative. Cara bolts from the corner and dodges the blaster fire like the skilled soldier she is, running at full speed toward the two lumbering droids. 

Greef and I volley fire at the droid’s blaster heads and manage to disable three of the six between the two. Cara runs and slides to duck fire at the last moment, slashing the blade clear through one of the droid’s bulky legs, sending it crashing to the ground. Before the other droid can turn, she twirls around and slices its fat head clear from its shoulders. It falls, no longer functional.

Blaster fire suddenly spatters from the other amputated but still-functional droid and hits Cara in the left calf. She cries out, reeling around and slashing its head off before she falls on her knees.

“Cara!” I rush over to her and Greef pads behind.

“I’m fine - just a graze,” she hisses and begins to stand upright. We reach her side.

“Greef, steady her,” I order and he looks at the grumpy ex-rebel and shrugs as he swings her arm over his shoulder.

I kneel down to assess the damage. Blood trickles from the deep wound and I curse under my breath as I didn’t have any bandage wraps handy. From my bag, I grab the bacta and pour some into the opening to at least start the healing process and to reduce the bleeding. It will require further care. 

“I can walk on my own,” Cara breaks from Greef’s support. “Let’s move,” she grits, doing her best not to limp, the blade still in her hand. I can see why Din and her were buds. _Both stubborn as a mother of a bantha._

Greef stares at her with concern. “Cara, are you sure you’re ok?” 

“I’m fine, old man - let’s just keep moving,” Cara continues determinedly onward down the hall, retracing our path back to the ship. 

I retreat to take over care for Din. 

“He’s holding stable,” Pershing reports. “It appears to be a wound to his fifth left intercostal muscle, but not deeper than that,” his glasses glint in the fluorescent lighting.

“I’m fine,” Din rumbles, but I know it’s painful for him to breathe with such a wound. I assess the scanner as we continue to walk and agree with the geneticist’s diagnosis. The cut hadn’t penetrated completely through the muscle. Din’s vitals are fine from the glance I had taken. I pour some bacta on the wound, deciding it was safe to allow the bacta to do its thing without stitches this time. It might need stitches later if it can’t approximate on its own. 

“Pershy, go check on Cara,” I order, gesturing at the nearly-limping woman a few meters ahead of us. “Blaster shot to the left mid-calf, general bacta already applied,” I report. 

He looks at me in disbelief. _That ex-rebel hates him and might very well give him a blaster shot if he gets too close._

I can read his painfully worried face.

“She’ll warm up to you,” I encourage. “Eventually,” I laugh. Din lets out a slight chuckle seeing Pershing’s discomfort.

Pershy reluctantly turns and shuffles ahead to follow the woman who seems to loathe his existence. He gulps and feels a cold sweat break on his forehead. _Please don’t shoot me_ , he thinks as he approaches. Greef lets out a chortle as he watches the slender scientist’s nervousness because he knows the man has something to be scared about.

Din declines my offer to take from him the sleeping babe. Satisfied his vitals are stable and near baseline, I slip my scanner into my bag as I follow alongside him. Both of us have our blasters drawn as we catch up to Cara, Greef, and Pershy.

“I’m fine, Imp,” Cara growls at Pershing who about falls off his feet at her bark.

“You’re bleeding again,” he motions down to the red trickle coming from her leg. 

“Fuck,” she spits out glancing at her leg. “Ok, you got 15 seconds, Imp,” she stops and turns to him, brow deeply furrowed in one of the most intimidating scowls she’s ever mustered.

He gulps as he doesn’t have a wrap with him. He improvises and clumsily holds onto his stethoscope as he sheds his Imperial jacket and offers it to her, trembling. 

“You can use the fabric to tie around the wound for pressure,” he suggests, nudging his glasses up his nose and waiting for her to either punch him or keep walking. She glares at his face and then the ugly uniform in his hand.

“Thanks,” she scoffs, roughly grabbing the garment and tearing off an arm with her bare hands. She bends to secure it around the wound. Pershing’s heart hammers as he catches his breath from what he considered to be a near-death experience. 

“Told ya she’d warm up to you,” I chuckle as Din and I continue past. Greef cracks a smile and claps Pershing on the back.

Cara shakes her head and tosses the remainder of the jacket to Pershing, who nearly fumbles it. 

We come to another turn.

“Left or right Cara?” I ask behind my shoulder, now not recalling the direction of the ship.

“Right,” she breathes as she limps along. Pershing slips his one-armed uniform back on and drapes his stethoscope back around his neck.

We turn the corner and are met by half a dozen stormtroopers. 

_Fuck._

“Stop there!” One of the troopers orders. 

We open fire at the bunch and knock two down.

“Fall back!” Cara yells, grimacing from her leg. We turn back around the corner to regroup. Heavy steps sound from down the hall. Another battle droid is approaching and we will soon be surrounded, with two of our best fighters not at full capacity.

“Surrender now!” the deep robotic voice demands as its metallic weight pounds into the floor, drawing dangerously closer. Its exceptionally large, dark-green ovular body is now visible from down the hall. 

_My blood runs to ice._

It’s a battle droid my father had worked upon - and _very_ deadly, equipped with 12 different blaster heads that appear from hidden compartments about its body, flamethrowers in each arm, and vaporization tech. It has sniper-like accuracy, so it isn’t the kind you can outshoot or outrun.

“Drop your weapons!” one of the troopers orders, voice also coming closer from around the corner to our position.

I look at Cara for direction as she grits her teeth from twisting her injured leg. Pershing continues to fuss over her wound while she hesitates to push him away. I look at Din who is holding the resting babe tight and breathing heavily from his still healing wound, blaster aimed at any trooper that might appear from around the corner. I glance at Greef, whose brow is crumpled in panic, blaster also drawn. 

_We need to act now._

“Din - I got the droid, you, Cara, and Greef take the troopers,” I direct. I begin slowly walking toward the lumbering, deadly mechanical figure.

“Halarys, no!” Din shouts at me. He opens fire at the first trooper that approaches from the corner.

“We surrender!” I announce to the gargantuan metal beast as I drop my blaster with a clank on the floor, and watch as its laser-red eyes train on my head. It draws closer with large trunk-like legs, only a half dozen meters away. My vellus hairs stand on-end as energy envelops my skin. 

“You are under arrest by Imperial article -,” it begins its outdated mechanical recitation as it extends a large, thick arm toward me to apprehend.

“The Empire no longer rules,” I snarl. Instinctively, energy suddenly bursts from my hands, and with gale-force, it crashes into the mudhorn-of-a-droid, sending the behemoth careening down the corridor with sparks zapping and twisted shards of metal being shed as it thunders toward the end of the hall. With a ground-shaking, metallic crunch, it collides with brutal force into the wall, crumpling into a smoking heap of junk.

I turn toward the group, my energy still on-edge.

Greef and Din had successfully warded off the remaining troopers, as evidenced by the four bodies now strewn on the ground. 

“Is everyone ok?” I ask. 

“Think so,” Greef looks at the group and then back at me, completely wide-eyed at my stunt. Pershing glances up, with what looks like fascination. 

“Let’s get to the ship,” Cara grunts, lifting herself from the ground. I can see the blood beginning to seep through Pershing’s jacket-sleeve-turned-makeshift-bandage on her leg. She stands a little too quickly and loses her balance for a moment. Pershing jumps in and steadies her - she grumbles but takes the help. 

_Perhaps the Imp isn’t so awful_ , she thinks for a split nanosecond. _She still doesn’t like him much, but maybe won’t quite use him as a human shield if the opportunity arises._

“We’re just down a few halls to the left,” Cara reports as she turns the corner with blaster ready, recalling our previous path. Pershing trails close to steady her if need be. 

I bend to pick up my dropped blaster and as I stand, my energy-high fades. I feel a little dizzy and start to lose my footing. Trying to steady myself, I collapse against the wall.

“Halarys!” Din gasps, immediately running to my side, with the babe. 

The room is spinning and my sight momentarily fades into a darkened blur and voices become muffled. 

“Halarys!” Din sets the slumbering babe down and grabs my face. “Halarys!” he pats the side of my face as my eyes roll into the back of my head. His heart falters and then races at my unresponsiveness. This episode was similar, but different than the one by the river on Deridian X-9.

“Halarys,” he shakes my shoulders. “Please, Halarys - wake up,” he pleads; tears sting at his eyes seeing me like this. 

“What?” I spit out at the loud voice as I start coming to, the room grows brighter and sounds become clearer. 

“Cyar’ika,” Din exhales, holding me close to his cuirass, his heart settling from his throat, back into its proper place. 

I had _nearly_ fainted from the exertion.

“What’s happening?” Greef meets his side, eyes very concerned.

“It’s a side-effect from using her powers,” he shares, modulated voice faltering. Greef’s mouth forms an “O” and he nods in understanding.

“I’m fine now,” I reassure, looking up at Din’s Beskar helm and hearing the rapid thumping of his worried heart beneath his chest piece. “Really, I’m fine,” I tenderly look into his dark glass. He holds me close for a moment longer, and I feel his breath steady as he lets go.

“Take the kid,” Din orders Greef. Din begins helping me up with his strong arms.

I look at his injured ribs. “Are you ok to be lifting me?” I run my fingers over the area. Surprisingly, it looks to be nearly approximated but still open in some areas. _Perhaps I underestimate bacta?_

“I’m just fine,” he exhales, breaking my thought. He briefly studies at my touch as he steadies me on my feet. He brings a hand to rest over mine, holding it on the wound in reassurance.

“Let’s go,” Din turns us to round the corner and Greef nods with the child asleep in his arms.

We catch up to Cara and Pershy.

“What took you guys?” Cara prods, with an angry brow. Her face changes when she notices Din holding me steady. “You ok, doc?” her voice is now filled with concern.

“Yeah, just a little dizzy after taking out that giant droid,” I smirk as my head continues to clear. Cara nods. 

“We should be just down another hallway on the left,” she reports as we pass the first hallway. Pershing keeps an eye on her and she occasionally throws him an exasperated look. He keeps on her timidly yet faithfully like a kicked pup.

My head finally stops swimming and I almost reluctantly break from Din’s sturdy support. _I enjoy having him close again, but we can cuddle later._ Greef hands the babe back now that Din’s arms were free.

“Just up ah-,” Cara starts, but then begins collapsing. Pershing rushes in and catches her torso before she falls completely.

“Cara!” I yell. I rush over feeling a bit dizzy again and fall to my knees beside Pershy as he feels for a pulse on the ex-rebel. Greef and Din hover over and keep a watchful eye for any unwanted company.

“Cara!” I shout, nudging her usually fierce, now peaceful face. I whip out my scanner.

“Her pulse is weak,” Pershing’s voice falters. He scrambles to check on her leg wound. “She’s still bleeding,” he reports and he ties the blood-soaked makeshift dressing tighter to act as a tourniquet.

“She’s lost a lot of blood,” I look at the vital readings, which indicate hypotension, tachycardia, and significantly reduced cardiac preload for someone her size. “She’s suffering from hypovolemic shock,” I diagnose.

“She needs fluids, fast,” Pershy gasps, gathering himself and struggling to lift the woman, but he manages to get her upright.

Din hands the child back to Greef and swoops in to carry her before Pershing falls from taking on more than he can physically handle.

“I got you,” Din speaks tenderly to his wounded friend in his arms. “Just hang in there,” his voice nearly falters as we continue onward. _It’s his turn to return the favor she had afforded him on Nevarro - he feels guilt continue to tear into his chest that she’s critically injured because of everything_ ** _he_** _dragged her into. He’ll never forgive himself if she died, just as he’ll never forgive himself for Kuiil or the IG unit._

“She’s going to be ok,” I reassure, noticing Din’s posture slump in worry. “We just need to keep moving.” 

Pershy hovers, looking at my scanner’s readings through his glinting glasses. The tourniquet was keeping her low readings stable at least. _He hopes she’ll be ok and knows there’s a good prognosis if we get fluids started soon._

“There’s the hallway!” Greef points to a break in the corridor a dozen meters ahead on the left.

We all pick up our pace and make it to the corner. Greef hands me the child as I hand the scanner off to Pershy to continue monitoring Cara. 

The Guild leader pulls out his blaster. He carefully peers around the corner, weapon at the ready for an undesired encounter. 

“We’re clear,” he exaggeratedly exhales.

“Let’s move,” I hurry around Greef with the babe cradled in my arms. My eyes briefly drink up his sweet sleeping face as his ear twitches. _Good to have you back, green bean,_ I smile to myself.

I spot the downed trooper ahead from where we had entered. Surprisingly (and thankfully) no other Imps had found our entry point.

“We’re just ahead!” I inform as the group picks up the pace seeing the homestretch.

We make it to the our improvised entrance and Din cocks his helm in amusement at our handiwork. 

“I’ll go first and throw down a rope,” I hand the babe to Pershy who continues to fuss over Cara. Din growls a little at the handoff, but Pershing’s will be the only free hand at this time.

“Greef, give me a boost,” I demand. He nods, holstering his blaster, bracing his back and legs and interlacing his fingers to create a step. I make quick work, stepping up and lifting myself onto his shoulders, earning a couple of pained hisses from the man. I grab at the smoothest side of the cut metal opening and hoist myself up with a grunt. Feeling a sliver of relief at the familiar inside of the faithful Razor Crest, I immediately start rummaging through cargo boxes and find a thick rope. I secure it tightly around the cockpit ladder and throw down the slack through the hatch. Greef climbs up next, struggling a bit and I grasp his hand to ease him up the rest of the way.

“How’s Cara?” I look down at Pershy.

“Holding fairly steady, she needs fluids as soon as possible,” he looks worriedly at her in Din’s arms. _I’d almost say that geneticist weasel is fond of her if I hadn’t known any better._

Pershing is next with the babe. Din gently sets Cara down to the ground and approaches the scientist. 

“They’re going to hoist you and the kid up,” Din grumbles as he begins to tie the rope around Pershing’s waist and next a loop for his foot to leverage into. “Hold him tight,” he gravelly demands with helm mere centimeters away from the shaking geneticist’s face. Pershing nods and gulps as Din strokes his foundling’s head.

“Pull ‘em up,” Din orders Greef and me. We easily hoist his slight frame and Pershing sets the sleeping babe to the cargo bay floor as he breaches the opening. He lifts himself through the remainder of the way. I grab the sweet babe and tenderly place him in his pod, his gentle breaths still remaining steady. Greef throws the rope back to Din.

“Med supplies in that box,” I direct to Pershy in preparation for Cara. “Grab LR, peripheral IV-.” 

“I got it,” Pershing cuts me off, almost sounding confident. I smile - _my colleague is capable._

Din secures the rope around Cara’s waist, shoulders, and hips to best offer support to her limp body. Din looks up and nods to us. Greef and I work to hoist her, and bring her to the edge of the opening. Pershing jumps in and bends over the hatch to reposition her head and guide her through as we pull her all the way up.

Greef and I drag her farther in and Pershing already has the scanner on her chest and starts preparing a peripheral IV in her wrist.

“I got this,” Pershy glances up briefly through his glasses. He almost sounds protective.

I back off as he looks to be competent - _afterall,_ _all physicians took the same emergency medicine rotations in medical school_ … _and who knows what else the Imps had had him do besides genetics work._

Din looks up at the opening, and then around the hallway.

“Can someone throw down the rope?” he asks somewhat impatiently, but knowing we were likely quite busy with Cara.

Suddenly a metal cord shoots down and wraps tight around his shoulders causing his heart to jump. He looks up to find my giggling face peering down.

“I told you I’d lasso you,” I smirk as I give the line a playful tug. My face blushes and wears a large, goofy grin as I hold his over-sized vambrace in place around my forearm.

He lets out a chuckle and frees his arms from the cord. “That you did, Hal’ika,” he smiles, fondly remembering the promise I had made when he last saw me before his capture. _Oh how this woman drove him to the edge of utter restlessness._

“Alright, I seriously can’t hoist you up with this, so let me toss you the rope,” I throw him his vambrace to complete his armor and turn to grab the rope, now untied from Cara. I let it down for Din and watch as he ascends.

“Stop there!” A trooper voice suddenly orders.

Before I can react, Din draws his blaster and shoots the Imp down in a split second. He smoothly climbs the rest of the way and I grab his gloved hand to help him into the cargo bay.

“Are you ok?” I shake my head at him, inspecting his body for new holes in case the Imp managed to return fire. _I had delayed him with the lasso stunt._ I scold myself for the action.

“I’m just fine,” he brings his forehead to mine for a moment in a Keldabe kiss. He then turns and closes the hatch, sealing it off.

“Let’s get out of here,” Greef dramatically announces. Din nods.

“How’s Cara?” Din peers down at Pershing who has started the LR.

“Her vitals are improving,” the doctor nods at Din and returns to studying the scanner.

“Thank you,” Din replies in monotone and continues his way up the ladder. The engines whir to life and we detach from the starbase with a loud metal clank. 

_We’re leaving an open breach to space, but the starbase had detection for any such breaches to immediately seal off the affected area. My mother will be safe, but I again ached at the thought of leaving her with Gideon…_

The Crest shudders as the distinct sound of blaster cannon fire sputters across the hull and echoes within its belly.

“Brace yourselves for hyperspace!” Din shouts from the cockpit. 

The ship takes a few more rattling hits as we catapult into lightspeed. Pershing holds onto Cara and continues monitoring, while Greef and I brace ourselves on the floor.

The ship steadies out and I offer Pershy my Beskar needle and biofiber thread.

“Want to do the honors?” I gesture at her wounded leg that desperately needed stitches. He nods, taking the supplies from my hands. He already had bacta and antimicrobial at the ready. “I’ll be up with Din if you need me,” I smile at Pershy and then nod at Greef. My glance at Cara’s vitals tells me she’s coming out of the danger-zone and the babe still rests peacefully in his floating bassinet.

I make my way up the ladder and head over to my Beskar soulmate.

“How are you doing?” I ask as I sit on his lap and wrap my arms around his shoulders. It’s slightly uncomfortable from the thigh armor, but I thoroughly enjoy the closeness, so very thankful he’s here and alive.

“I’m doing quite well thanks to you and everyone else,” his helm purrs as he holds me tight against his Beskar. I can feel him shaking now.

“Din-,” I run my hands over his cowl and look into his dark glass, glimmering from the streaking starlight. He knows I can feel him trembling.

“I’m just so happy to have you and the kid with me again,” his voice breaks with emotion as he holds me tighter. I feel his energy and soul connect and intertwine with mine.

“Me too,” I whisper into his helm, tears of relief in my eyes. “Me too.”


	18. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XVIII: Kar'ta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group reconvenes on the Razor Crest after the harrowing escape from the Imperial Starbase. Important revelations are made.

“Hey guys, guys! The baby, he’s, he’s choking the doctor!” Greef hollers up toward the cockpit, breaking Din and me from our embrace.

“What?!” I barely lift from Din’s warm lap before he jumps up and slides down the ladder to the ship’s belly. I rush behind, the sharp nip of adrenaline coursing through me.

“H-help him!” Greef looks terrified and completely unsure what to do as Pershing levitates half a meter from the floor, coughing and gagging from the child’s invisible chokehold. “He’s doing the magic hand thing!” 

_Shit._

“No!” Din closes in and scolds the babe, who has a look of murderous intent on his little face.

_I never knew he could look so fierce._

Din bends to scoop him up, but just as he’s about to nab the little green bug, the babe swipes with his other hand, knocking Din backward with a rough clank against the ship’s wall.

“Bean!” I yell at the furious gremlin, both his hands now busy choking Pershy and keeping Din pinned. I swoop in and grab the little bugger, holding him tight against my chest as he shrieks in protest. With force grip is broken, Pershing immediately falls to the floor with a thud, taking gasping coughs of air. 

I can feel the babe’s hot, angry, and confused energy course into me and I absorb it until it finally mellows to a medium simmer. His little upset breaths puff against my neck and his shrill vocalizations grow a little softer.

_I understand he’s angry at Pershing for the experiments and also that he thinks the man is experimenting on Cara. He has all the reason in the galaxy to be furious and to think this way. How can I expect him to even understand, let alone forgive the scientist?_

“It’s ok bean,” I whisper into his soft head as he squeezes the Beskarless area of my shoulder, his little claws digging into the fabric. He then tries to push me away. I just hold him tighter. “Pershing is trying to help Cara get better. He’s trying to help,” I hush into the little soft hairs on his head.

I attempt to use my calm and soothing energy to explain to him the confusing situation: 

_Yes, Pershing had done mean, scary things to you, but that was because bad men made him. Pershing actually fought to keep you alive. The bad men would have killed you,_ I think, trying to explain as best I can to the frightened, angry child. I had drawn from the knowledge Din had shared and my own experiences with Pershy. 

_The geneticist is the only reason the babe still breathes - Din and I will be forever thankful for that._

I hold him close for a few minutes, maintaining calm feelings and repeating explanations in my head. Finally, the child coos and levels-out in my arms, finally coming down from his infernal rage. He stares at Pershing and then at me with wide eyes, a look that almost reads as guilt. I think he understands on some level now. Din comes up and pets his head. 

“It’s ok, kid,” the worried father leans in and takes him from my arms. “Dr. Pershing is trying to help,” he almost begrudgingly admits as he holds his son tight to his cuirass.

With his great big ears, the child can now hear Din’s strong, steady heartbeat through the Beskar, and feel Din’s mellow energy reassure that Pershing isn’t going to hurt him or anyone anymore. He coos an apology, feeling guilty for hurling his protector against the wall.

“Are you ok?” I ask Pershy as I easily help him off the floor. He groans, rubbing at his bruised, sore neck. As I reach to grab my scanner from the still passed-out but clinically much-improved shock-trooper, I notice Pershy had bunched up his one-armed jacket as an improvised pillow for her, which makes me smile. Turning, I hover the device over his injured neck.

“I-I’m f-fine,” Pershy chokes out with a wheeze. _Per the image, the child had managed to crack a small area of cartilage in his trachea._

“Green bean was really pissed,” I try to joke, inspecting the area. _His heart rate is high (not surprising) and SpO2 was within normal limits. He is fine…well, mostly fine. He will need intervention for the cartilage fracture._

“I-I d-deserved it,” he croaks with a wince.

“I’m going to inject some bacta into the damaged tissue,” I say as I set the scanner back on Cara, who’s vitals are nearly baseline on average for someone of her anthropometrics, age, and gender. I stride over to the med chest and rummage through to gather a 10 cc needled syringe and general bacta (the supply in my bag was low).

“The baby has a strong grip, huh?” Greef tries to make small-talk with the scientist, who is still rubbing at his aching neck. Pershing just gives an unamused, pathetic look from over his large glasses.

Supplies in hand, I grab the scanner again from Cara and pick up one of the antimicrobial bottles still at her side. I guide Pershing over to lay down on the cot in Din’s bedroom, and as I do so, I can feel the dark helm glare at me for allowing him in our intimate space. I shoot Din a flash of my blue-green eyes and he huffs defeatedly. 

\----------------------

Din hates the fact, but if he’s completely honest with himself, at this moment, he’s intensely jealous while watching _her_ fussing over _this_ man in _his_ bed. He can feel his blood pressure gradually ticking upward.

 _Maybe it’s because Pershing and Halarys share a past and work in similar fields?_ he tries to identify the root of his insecure thoughts, grumbling to himself.

_Or perhaps it’s because he’s an enormous-glasses-wearing, bumbling, infuriating, Imperial scientist that goes by the name of “Doctor Pershing”?_

_Perr-shing…perr-ssshiing._ Din enunciates in his head.Even the sound of his name irritates him right now.

The babe coos in his arms, breaking him from the ridiculous, ruminating thoughts. Din shakes away the primitive, unfounded jealousy burning in his heart and focuses on his cooing foundling.

 _Of course I know she loves me,_ he thinks as he looks into those impossibly large eyes. _She loves both of us. And, yes, Pershing isn’t_ that _bad…_

_\----------------------  
_

I prepare the area of my colleague’s neck with antimicrobial solution. I lightly laugh to myself, seeing the stethoscope had managed to stay draped over his neck throughout that whole choking scenario. I draw up the general bacta in the syringe, and with the scanner providing visualization of his neck anatomy, I position the needle over his skin. I look at him for confirmation to begin and he nods, squeezing his eyes shut. I center the needle…

“Wait!” his voice hoarsely requests. I oblige and wait a few moments, studying the scanner and his elevated vitals.

“Ok,” he hesitantly permisses, looking at me with a grimace and taking a painful swallow. I position the needle again, angling it just right.

“Hold on,” he croaks, adjusting himself in bed. _His heart rate is that of a greenglade hummingbird’s._ I look at him again, this time my face wearing a touch less patience.

“Proceed,” he groans, closing his eyes. I angle the needle to his pulsing neck.

“Wai-,” he starts to back-out again.

“Pershing, just fucking hold still,” I order, my voice now heavy with extreme annoyance. He submits with a nod and scrunches his eyes shut, holding still. I steady the needle again and refer to the scanner as I slowly advance it into the fracture and inject 10 cc inside and into the surrounding area. I withdraw the needle. 

“Done,” I report. “You ok?” I ask Pershy, feeling a little guilty for snapping at the seemingly fragile man. He feebly nods, glasses glinting in the lights.

“Thank you,” he croaks, sitting up on the creaky cot.

“You’re a terrible patient,” I huff as I stand up. _But then again, so am I…_

I turn to dispose of the syringe in the bag I had been using for biohazard waste. It’s getting full.

“Guys, Cara’s waking up!” Greef’s voice dramatically notifies us.

Pershing grabs the scanner from me and returns to monitoring _his_ patient. We all hover around as her eyes flicker open and she squints at the lights.

“Cara,” Pershing lets slip out, his voice still hoarse. “I mean, Ms. Shocktrooper, how are you feeling?” He knew she used to be one, judging by the tattoo design on her bicep. _What a dumb thing to address her by_ , he scolds himself.

“Feeling like I got shot in the leg,” she looks at the other eyes peering down on her and lets out a stifled chuckle. _Memory is intact - she is fine_. 

“Show’s over folks,” Cara shakes her head with a furrowed brow and shoos us away. _She knows we all care about her, but doesn’t want anyone to fuss. Her injury is embarrassingly minor compared to what her fellow soldiers had endured._ She starts to sit back up but dizziness takes over and she reluctantly sets herself back down to the hard floor. She becomes perturbed as she eyes the tube running from the back of her hand to the quarter-full clear liquid-containing bag hanging above.

“You lost a lot of blood,” Pershing explains. “We had to replace fluids,” he looks down at her through his large glasses. She rolls her eyes hard, feigning an annoyed huff, but she is indeed grateful for the help. _She admits to herself that she_ ** _almost_** _doesn’t want to punch those ridiculously large glasses off the Imp’s nerdy face._

_\----------------------  
_

“Looks like Cara will be just fine,” I shift my smiling eyes from my former colleague and the shock trooper to Din. “How’s the babe?” I ask, now gazing into the green bug’s adorable, wide-eyes that glance between me and Pershing, as if still trying to understand the dynamic between us and his ex-torturer. _I’ll always feel bile at the back of my throat when thinking of all the possible things the Imps had made the child endure._

“He’s behaving for now,” Din looks down at the pint-sized tyrant. _He’s secretly proud that his son is a natural fighter, but the Force thing is dangerously teetering on the verge of something that is getting out of hand…and deadly. Din feels immense pressure to find someone to help the kid and to help us understand the gift…and soon._

“I’m resetting our course to Naboo,” Din announces seemingly out-of-the-blue. “I was hoping we could pick up some more leads on the current location of the Force-practitioner that was last seen there.” The groups nods back at the Beskar pilot.

I recall Cara and Greef sharing with us this information from an informant on Deridian X-9. _I hope it will lead somewhere…_

With his foundling in one arm, the Mandalorian wastes no time and climbs up to the cockpit and sets the kid in the co-pilot seat. He then unscrews the metal ball for the child to play with. He punches at buttons and swipes at switches.

“Jumping from hyperspace in three…two…one!” he warns down to us in the ship’s belly as he disengages the throttle.

The ship’s sudden deceleration causes Pershing to land a top Cara, his face accidentally in her bosom. She growls and he scrambles off, hotly blushing and completely fearful for his life. Greef chuckles uncontrollably from the cargo net he had flung into. I had grabbed onto the ladder, but my foot had landed in the vacc-tube. _Fucking nasty._

“A little more warning next time, Din!” I shout up to the cabin laughing and shaking the damp toilet water off my foot.

Din sets the coordinates to Dee’ja Peak in the Gallo Mountains of Naboo - the last known location of the Force-user according to what the woman in the bar on Deridian X-9 had told Cara and Greef. 

“Jumping back to hyperspace in three…two…one!” he warns again.

This time we are all ready for the great lurch. A few moments later, Din pads his way down the ladder where I await. Reaching beneath his cape, I playfully grab his backside as he clears the last rung, earning a snap of his head and instantaneous entrapment in his strong arms, which render my hands completely harmless. I give him a silly pout. _I had a difficult time containing naughty urges sometimes…_

“We’ll arrive in around 7 hours,” he announces to the group as he holds me tight against his chest. 

\---------------------- 

_It’s almost as though he has a new Tribe,_ he thinks. _They weren’t Mandalorians, but they were just as much of a brave fighting bunch (or skilled in other ways) as any Beskar-clad warrior he used to call family in the sewers on Nevarro._

His heart swelled thrice its normal size at the thought and the sight of his friends before him - even if we parted ways for awhile, we always seemed to come back together when help was needed. 

\---------------------- 

_He looks so focused_ , I think as I study the preoccupied stare of his visor. Shifting to my tippy-toes, I kiss the side of his helm and he holds me a little tighter to his sturdy armor.

I look to our faithful group sitting around on the dusty floor, eyes shifting around in semi-boredom.

“To Naboo!” I cheer to the lackluster crowd (we had all just been through a lot). “Now who’s hungry?” I ask, feeling my own growling pangs of hunger nip at my center.

“I am,” Greef immediately responds. Cara nods and Pershing gives a wide-eyed look. _I knew the Imps only fed captives twice a day at most during my time in forced servitude. It’s partially why Pershing is so thin._

“Din - why don’t you make that Mandalorian chili for all of us?” I suggest and nudge his side, careful to avoid his wound. 

He is silent and contemplative for a moment. 

_Maybe I had crossed a line asking for such an intimate thing to be shared with the group…_

He then lets out a small chuckle. 

“That’s a great idea,” he almost proclaims and walks over to the food synthesizer. He loads up more macronutrient food bags into the intake compartment in the upper part of the machine. “I have to warn everyone - it’s spicy,” he glances at the group for acknowledgement. 

“I like spicy,” Greef nods his head in anticipation.

“Me too,” Cara throws Din a smirking glance while cleaning her blaster.

“The spicier, the better!” Pershing chimes in with an uncharacteristically hearty tone. His voice is now mostly recovered. We all smile.

The ship’s belly quickly fills with the aroma of the savory, spiced dish as the synthesizer spits out the divine puree.

A cooing suddenly appears at the foot of the ladder. _Din had left him up in the cockpit…_

“How’d you-?” I start, my question, interrupted as I peer up at the cockpit and then down at the green bean who laughs. _I really, no, definitely think he can levitate or teleport…_

“Hey kid - you hungry?” Din offers his son the first bowl. He eagerly reaches with gimmie hands and sits down as Din places the bowl in front of the little bean. He immediately begins chowing down, shoveling handfuls into his mouth.

Din passes out the delicious bowls to everyone, and finally sets a straw into his serving. 

Greef stands up and raises his bowl. “To whatever lies ahead, my friends, may we all stay strong…or have a skilled healer nearby,” the Guild leader looks at me then Pershy, “and continue moving onward together,” his booming voice announces, sending a warm smile to all our faces.

“Together!” I proclaim and nudge Pershing. _He is part of our team as long as he wants._

“Together!” Greef, Din, Cara, and Pershing all recite together lifting their bowls in the air.

Green bean lets out a giant burp at the end, making us all break into laughter. He looks around at his pleased audience and giggles at himself.

Greef and Cara chatter and Pershing listens-in while they all continue eating. The scientist occasionally adds some one-liners that Cara actually half-smiles at. Greef finds the doctor quite humorous. The chili makes all their noses run, but it’s a hit. They all compliment Din’s recipe. _The Mandalorian feels a warm fuzziness near his heart…and the warmest grin that no one can see sits upon his face._

Din and I thoroughly savor the sight of everyone together as we devour our portions. 

As I take my last bite, my eyes fixate on the dirty green bean about to go tracking food puree all over.

“I’m on it,” I assert, handing Din my empty bowl and keeping my eyes honed on the kid’s trajectory toward his stuffed animals hanging out in the bedroom under the cot. I snatch him up just before his grimy little paws can muss them up. He looks at me with pathetic eyes and twitching ears, and squeaks in protest. Din hands me a wet cloth and I wipe his dirty little hands and face as he semi-resists, chattering and reaching with grabby hands to the toys. The stuffies begin to levitate off the ground. 

_You’re getting a little naughty, huh?_ I think as he squirms and babbles with what sounds like annoyed baby talk. He wants his frog and windhound plushes _now_.

I set him down and he grabs both midair, making them jump like frogs - just like before his recent abduction by the Imps. It brings a comforting smile to my face - he seems to be resilient, as children often are - and a very powerful child at that. _It’s about time we seriously work toward finding an experienced Force-user._

I smile at Din who watches in our direction and shake my head. _Our little green monster,_ I think.

Everyone finishes their portions and Din collects the dishes and places them in the collector for washing. He hands out waters for everyone, which are well-received given the spiciness of the dish.

Pershing seats himself just outside the bedroom and the babe notices him. He toddles over with stuffies in hand and stops at his feet. The doctor looks at the Child with kind, yet fearfully regretful eyes. The little one outstretches a hand, offering the windhound plush to Pershing. The man flinches at first, expecting another Force-fueled punishment, but then when nothing happens, he realizes the kind gesture. With a nervous smile, he slowly reaches out to take the toy.

_I watch closely, making sure green bean doesn’t pull another death-grip stunt._

The Child smiles at Pershing and points at his chest. Pershy looks down at the black stethoscope. _Ahh, he wants to trade._

“Well, you can take both,” Pershing unwraps the tubing from his neck and places the tubing in the windhound’s bunny-like ears. “You can use this to listen to sounds inside the body,” he explains, placing the diaphragm on his chest for the toy to listen. He offers the pairing to the babe, who immediately drops his froggy in favor of the “doctor windhound”. Cara and Greef watch - both with large, adoring smiles on their faces. 

I’m smiling as well, melting on the inside at the cute interaction. 

Pershing motions to the Child to put the tool inside his ears. The little bean mimics and grabs the stethoscope from the toy, trying to properly place in his ears. He struggles and Pershing reaches to help. The Child plays keep-away for a moment, but then allows the scientist to assist. He motions the babe to place the diaphragm on his chest, and he leans downward so it’s easier for the little one to reach. The babe grabs the diaphragm and places it to where Pershing points, over Erb’s point - the best spot to hear all heart sounds at once.

His large ears perk upwards and his eyes open extremely wide hearing the clear thumping sound. He looks entranced. _The scientist has a heart, just like his metal-clad father._

Pershing smiles at the curious, bright child. _Perhaps the Child doesn’t absolutely hate him._

My grin is so big at the adorable sight, my face starts to hurt. _The little bean could be such an amazing healer_ , I think, pulling Din a little closer.

Green bean shifts the diaphragm to his own chest and his eyes widen again at the similar sound. 

He then waddles over to Greef to test his new theory. The Guild leader leans down and works to a sitting position. “I suppose you have to make sure I’m still alive, huh?” Greef speaks animatedly, causing the bug to giggle. The babe crawls into his lap and places the diaphragm on his chest and his eyes grow very, very large as he quizzically cocks his head. 

“Mechanical valve,” Greef announces in explanation, “acquired from a tussle on Tatooine with a vibrant woman.”

“Yes, that would sound odd,” Pershing chimes in.

After having enough with Greef’s odd-sounding chest, the bean shuffles over to his next patient: Cara.

The ex-rebel grumbles lightly. “Hey kid, yeah, I know what you want,” she smirks. “You’re lucky you’re so cute,” she admits, plucking him up and holding him in her arms. He places it on her chest. Pershing blushes and looks away from her bosom. The child looks at her and coos. He then looks unimpressed - he wants down.

“Guess I’m not that interesting,” she huffs.

I appear to be his next target as he shuffles toward my feet and looks up. 

“Hey green bean,” I smile as I remove my Beskar chest piece, setting it beside me as I sit on the floor. He crawls into my lap and places the diaphragm on my right breast - I laugh and blush. I redirect this hand to a better spot and he listens intently. His eyes grow like swamp melons again. “That is called a ‘heart’,” I try to give my first anatomy lesson. “Heart,” I point at my chest and he looks at me with his big curious eyes. “Heart,” I smile, this time pointing at his chest.

He soon grows tired of my heart’s predictable, methodical rhythm and shifts off my lap. He moves over to Din, who has already prepared by taking off his cuirass. Din sits beside me, and I smile at the Mandalorian for being so tender and supportive to his foundling’s new interest.

His little green son climbs into his lap and places it over Din’s sternum, close enough to a good listening spot. His dark, shiny eyes grow quite large and his ears perk. _My guess is he’s hearing the rushing/rasping noise of Din’s benign murmur - at least I hope that’s all it is. I still need to give Din a formal exam after all the recent abuse his poor body had endured._

“Kar’ta,” Din softly speaks the Mando’a word for heart (or soul). The kid peers up at his dad’s helm, eyes agape and entranced by both his father’s unique heartbeat and the novel word.

“Kar’ta,” Din repeats again, but more robustly this time and with rusty-orange fingertips pointing at his middle sternum.

The babe makes a very small, high-pitched “kkaah,” noise that has us all stunned and excited. Din’s heart skips rapidly from his son’s meaningful sound. The kid’s eyes grow bigger and ears twitch at the glitches in the bassy-raspy rhythm.

“Kar’ta,” Din repeats again, encouraging his son to speak.

“Kkkkk,” he squeakily spits out again and giggles. He clumsily removes the stethoscope from his ears to focus on the vocabulary lesson.

“Karr-tah,” Din enunciates, placing his gloved hand over his chest, the blue triangle marking approximately where his heart would lie. The babe intently studies his Beskar father.

“Kkaa,” his adorable high voice tries again and smiles at all of us paying attention to him.

“Kar…tah,” Din repeats, patting his hand over his heart with each syllable.

“Kkaarr,” he gives another attempt and bounces in utter happiness at his progression. I can’t contain my excitement and my face hurts from grinning. And Din’s kar’ta is absolutely beaming from this important moment with his foundling.

“Kar-ta,” Din repeats, leaning even closer toward his son, now pointing at the kid’s small chest.

“Kkkarrtaah,” the babe speaks in a slightly lower pitch, almost as if mimicking Din’s tone.

Everyone claps and cheers. The babe looks around and giggles in glee at his first word and our positive reaction.

Din feels extreme pride in his son - his first word being Mando’a and of something meaningful. Din’s kar’ta is soaring faster than the ship.

The babe yawns dramatically and his eyes flutter as he drops the stethoscope. Din picks up the sleepy bug and places him in his pod. Pershing delivers his stuffies to keep him company as he sleeps.

“It’s a lot of work being a doctor…and talking,” I smile to the babe, and kiss his sweet, smart, sleeping green head. I then bend to grasp the tripping-hazard, its tubing and metal all too familiar - I place it near his little stuffies. 

My mind can’t help but wander to my mother now and how I had played with her medical equipment as a toddler. _She was a natural-born teacher and had had all kinds of old and new equipment she brought home from the university to store or collect. I think fondly of memories of her showing me how to use her scanner, the very scanner I still carry with me to this day. Mother, what had happened to you?_

I glance over to Pershing chatting with Cara and Greef. _Pershy must know something…_

After reattaching my chest armor, I walk over to the group.

“Pershy, can I ask you some questions?” I interrupt the conversation… _something about Greef riding a baby bantha backwards to escape a vicious group of carnivorous Ewoks…_

Pershing’s glasses study my serious face and he nods, stepping aside with me.

“What do you know about my mother, Dr. Stilarys?” I cut to the point.

He looks down nervously. “Dr. Ristania…are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes, I want to know,” I look desperately into his glasses. “What happened - why is she so impressionable to Gideon?” I feel my gut clench thinking of the moff even looking at her.

“Well, from what Gideon has told me, the traumatic brain injury she endured a long time ago in a battle, is why she is the way she is,” he looks up at me. “Gideon wanted the Child to try to use the Force’s healing properties to cure Dr. Stilarys’ brain injury. That’s why he’s so obsessed. He convinced the Empire to clone the Child for an army…but that was merely a front to get their resources to fund his personal crusade,” he explains and then exhales as though he lifted a heavy weight from his chest.

My eyes drop to the ground. Everything is starting to make sense. _But I have so many more questions._

“Does Gideon hurt her?” I look Pershy right in the glasses.

“No,” he maintains eye contact. “He uh - he seems to deeply care for her in his own twisted way - and the affection seems _quite_ consensual,” he clears his throat and quirks his eyebrows. “I’ve never seen him physically hurt her, but he does encourage her delusions.”

_The idea of Gideon being affectionate with and manipulating my mother makes me want to vomit._

“Is the research promising for my mother’s condition?” I feel a gnawing pang of guilt hoping that the child’s experimentation might heal my mother - _but maybe something good can come of it? Am I horrible for thinking that?_

“So far, nothing clinically significant with human trials,” he admits - I can see the shame on his face and my stomach drops heavy at the phrase ‘human trials’. 

He continues: “We were trying to locate the area or areas of DNA expressed when the Force was being harnessed by the Child. We successfully isolated the DNA sequence and then replicated that section using PCR technology. We then introduced the sequence into the genome of a type of experimental bacta. This ‘super’ bacta was promising in in-vitro trials as it showed statistically significant regeneration of neurons in the areas of damage in recently-harvested neural tissue from persons with similar brain damage as your mother. But unfortunately, nothing meaningful in live-human trials. Functional deficits remained unchanged after our intervention,” he rattles it off like the abstract of some obscure medical journal article.

I’m shocked at the magnitude of the research. My stomach continues to sink at the lack of results and the incredibly unethical suffering these seemingly futile studies are causing. _My mother_ ** _never_** _would have wanted this. She’d be absolutely sickened._

Pershing notices the look of disgust and shock on my face. 

“Please, forgive me,” he looks down in shame at his feet, his eyes glisten with tears behind his glasses. 

I grab his shoulder, feeling my heart soften for him. _It’s not like you had a choice when the Imps had you in forced servitude - not unless you wanted to be at the business end of a blaster or a fresh subject in an experiment._

I look him dead in the eyes, “It’s not your fault - it’s Gideon’s, it’s the Imps’. I’ve beat myself up for far too long for having helped them and their cause. You have your freewill back. We have our freewill back. We are both free from their cruel imprisonment.” I only half-believed that last sentence. _I’ll be watching over my shoulder as long as the remnant Empire continues its crusade._

Pershing looks down at his feet, still feeling the overwhelming guilt nestled in his chest, stealing oxygen. I squeeze his shoulder. 

“I know you’re a good man, Pershykins,” I smile using the nickname. _He had made the mistake of telling me his little sister used to call him that while we were collaborating on weaponizing the poisonous root bulb of a plant species his sibling used to collect the flowers of._

He cracks a small smile and nods, feeling a slight release of the pressure within his breast from my kind words. _Yes, he had done terrible things, but definitely not because he wanted to. Perhaps he can be a good man, a better man - helping the Child is a good start._ He thinks to himself about how he will use his newfound freedom, feeling immeasurably indebted to us for his second chance.

I give Pershing’s shoulder a final squeeze before turning and walking over to Din, who is very casually leaning against the wall with arms crossed over his shiny cuirass. 

“That was quite the conversation,” his voice sounds extra smooth from his modulator. 

“You were listening?” My eyebrows quirk. _How could he hear us?_

“Directional sound amplifier,” he slyly points to one of the little ear-like projections on his helm. _You sneaky little Mando, eavesdropping on our conversation._

“I suppose there’s a lot I still don’t know about you, Mandalorian,” I half-smirk and poke the handsome inset, geometric design in the middle of his cuirass, which he had reattached during my heart-to-heart with Pershy. My eyes shift back at Pershing and my thoughts again become clouded by my mother:

_At least she is safe. As horrid as Gideon is, if Pershing’s accounts are factual, Gideon seems to love her, or at least be very obsessed with her - to the point of tricking the Empire into saving her. And she had, afterall, survived in his care all these years…_

Greef emits a very loud yawn next to Cara that snaps me from my thoughts. It reminds us all we should rest up before our landing.

“Alright, let’s get some sleep,” I announce. I turn to Din who’s already rummaging for extra bedding. He produces some rolled-up, scratchy-looking dark green blankets and hands one each to Greef, Cara, and Pershing. 

“Sorry, no pillows,” he apologizes. _He isn’t equipped for so many guests…or any guests for that matter…his carbonite bounties hadn’t exactly necessitated much of anything._ He marvels for a moment at how his life has rapidly evolved since the foundling and me. _His life is forever different, but definitely for the better._

The group shuffles to find places on the ship’s floor. Pershing helps remove Cara’s IV now that the LR bag was empty. She seems to be tolerating him, as evidenced by his proximity, the lack of blood coming from his nose, and maybe the slightest of grins on her face. It makes me smile to see her potentially accepting him.

My eyes shift as Din dims the ship’s lights to a soft, warm, barely-there-glow. He checks his vambrace. 

“We should arrive in about five and a half hours,” he announces, his shiny Beskar catching the dim light which makes him look extra mysterious, reminding me of the night we met. 

He then turns to his foundling. “Goodnight, my little womp rat, my kar’ta,” he hushes as he tenderly strokes the sleeping babe’s soft head with his gloved hand. He taps on his vambrace and closes the pod. 

_Pershy had mentioned cloning an army from the Child…he never said if they were successful or not._ My mind wanders at the horrifying thought of the remnant Empire harnessing and controlling even just one little Force-wielding clone.

“Cara, do you want the cot?” Din offers the softer sleeping arrangement to his recovering friend.

“I’ll take it if she doesn’t want it,” Greef butts in, earning a reprimanding kick from Cara. “Ow!” the Bounty Guild leader protests.

“We’re just fine right here,” she glares at the lump of Greef’s low-lit figure. “You and _your_ doctor should keep _your_ bed.” I can clearly hear the sly smirk in Cara’s words. _Din’s heart quickens in his chest._

My face turns bright pink - I’m sure of it. _Thank gods it’s too dark for anyone to tell…_

Pershing clears his throat in the awkward silence. “Dr. Ristania,” he formally addresses me, making me chuckle a little.

“Pershy, you can call me Halarys,” I smile.

“Halarys, here’s your scanner and needle back,” he holds his hand out and the shiny surface catches the light. He carefully hands the needle over.

“Thanks Pershy,” I take my prized possessions and stow them away in my bag. _I at least need the scanner for my plans with Din…_

I feel the Beskar man approach from behind. 

“And you, Mr. Djarin, are overdue for your follow up exam,” I grab his arm to lead him to the closet-sized bedroom.

“Mmmm, kinky,” Cara snorts, unable to help herself from teasing us. A small, nervous laugh escapes Pershing. Greef is already snoring.

“We’ll try to be quiet,” I wink and chuckle back, playing along (not that she can see the wink in this lighting). Din shakes his head at our antics, blushing intensely under his helm. We close the door behind us and Din turns on a soft light.

“Off with the shirt,” I whisper-order, now in doctor-mode. He cocks his stubborn, shiny helmet at my dominant tone, seemingly studying my face. 

“I’m serious, Din,” I assert, feeling foolish for not checking on him sooner; between his recent pulmonary embolism, cardiac tamponade and that hastily-treated knife-cut on his ribs, I need an unobstructed visual of his chest to fully assess.

He huffs in semi-reluctance. _However, he enjoys the attention, even if it’s medical in nature._ I watch as he detaches his cuirass and slips off his cape and bandoleir. He grunts a little as he works at his undershirt. His newest injury now seems to be bothering him.

“May I?” I ask permission to help remove the article of clothing. He drunkenly nods, feeling his shy pulse quicken from even the mere thought of my hands on him. _He still isn’t completely accustomed to my touch, which isn’t due to any lack of trust, of that he’s entirely certain - he fervently trusts me with both his life and that of his foundling. Nevertheless, he can’t help but feel quite nervous, perhaps from the years of hiding himself under layers of Beskar, protected from the touch of others. My touch is new, but also kind and healing and addicting._

As I lift his shirt and guide it over his helm, I notice the angry wound on his ribs, red and swollen with one side gaping and bleeding again. It distracts me from my current task, leaving the Mandalorian essentially blindfolded.

“Din-,” I say sympathetically as my chilled hands palpate the hot, inflamed tissue, earning a sharp intake of breath. “It’s infected.” I should have checked on him sooner. I curse at myself in my head.

“As much as I’m into blindfolds, a little help?” he half-groans, referring to the shirt still stuck over his helm.

“Oh, sorry,” I work to slip it over. 

“Careful,” he gently scolds as it starts shifting his helm upward.

“I think your helmet grew,” I scoff. The bloodied shirt finally slips free.

My eyes empathetically drink-in the full view of his scarred, abused torso, still littered with ECG pads. 

_Poor Din._ My heart aches at the sight.

I grab my scanner and hover over the injury on his ribs. 

“The infection isn’t deep, thankfully,” I determine from the live-image - there’s some inflammation of the surrounding intercostal muscle tissue, spreading about half a centimeter deep. His overall temperature was within normal limits, so nothing systemic thankfully. 

“Lay back,” I instruct, placing a hand on his chest to nudge him down. He shifts back on the cot and lays flat, feigning an impatient sigh. I place the scanner over his heart and set to projection so I can assess the efficacy of my earlier intervention for his cardiac tamponade while I treat his open wound. A brief glance shows only a marginal amount of blood had reaccumulated in his pericardium, nothing concerning. I’ll look at it more closely later.

I take my supplies from my bag and set them out. I pour antimicrobial over the length of the infected cut, causing Din’s breath to hitch painfully. I look at the scanner image - his heart was enduring the unintentional stress-test just fine.

“Want pain medication?” I offer analgesics as I rinse my hands in the sanitizer.

“No,” he quickly replies. 

_Stubborn metalhead…_

I liberally apply the antibiotic bacta to the gaping wound - it should penetrate the tissue and target the source of the infection. 

“You need stitches again,” I sternly inform - his heart throws a PVC on cue, making me chuckle. _That really does get him flustered…_

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, cyar’ika?” His helm shifts to better see my pretty face and watches as I thread the biofiber onto that kriffing Beskar needle.

“I’d rather be participating in much more enjoyable activities with you,” I quirk my eyebrows and give a flirty grin. His heart rate jumps at my response. It’s the best I can do to distract him from the next part.

“Kriff,” he hisses as I start the first stitch in his side. The scanner image shows his heart maintaining sinus tachycardia (138-143 BPM). _He’s fine._

“Cara probably thinks there’s fun stuff happening in here,” I try to joke. 

“Fun for you, not so much for me,” he groans as I continue my stitch work into his tender flesh. I feel bad for causing him pain, but this is necessary if it’s to heal properly.

His heart endures the stress well, and his heart rate finally trends down into the 110s BPM as I finish the line of stitches. 

“How are you feeling?” I ask as I spray general bacta over the stitches. 

“Like I just outran an angry mudhorn,” he catches his labored breath. I smile and glance at the little design on his shoulder armor setting beside him on the cot. _I’ve never asked him about it,_ I ponder.

I break myself from the distraction and focus my full attention to his heart. I study closely the image in conjunction with the ECG - the contractions align with the electrical impulses. His pericardium is fully healed - no signs of infection. I shift the monitor to display a dissected, apical four chamber view, which allows for visualization of all heart valves at once. His valves appear healthy except for very mild mitral valve regurgitation (the cause of his benign murmur), which I will keep an eye upon in case it progresses. Ejection fraction is within normal limits (ie, his heart was pumping efficiently).

“Is everything alright?” his voice murmurs, making me smile.

“Yes, you’re healthier than a free-range, grass-fed bantha,” I inform, which earns a half-chuckle from his helm. “Just some mild mitral valve regurgitation that I will need to monitor periodically,” I report as I move the scanner to ensure his lungs are free of any lingering or new embolus/emboli. 

“Oh,” he has no idea what I’m talking about but knows I’ll take care of it. I peel off the remaining ECG electrode pads, leaving little wet spots behind.

“If you start regularly feeling short of breath, experiencing rapid heart rate, and or dizziness, let me know,” I relay the typical symptoms of advanced valvular disease as I store away my scanner, convinced now he’s healthy. 

“That’s basically every moment I’m around you, mesh’la,” he quips.

_Yeah, I set myself up for that one._

Din gently grabs my hand and positions it over his kind heart.

 _He loves this move_ , I smile to myself. _And it’s honestly_ ** _the_** _sweetest thing ever, making my insides turn to mush._ I blush feeling its strong pounding beneath my palm. 

“You’re not trying to make me recite Mando’a too, are you?” I refer to his adorable, impromptu vocabulary lesson earlier. He half-chuckles. Then his visor almost looks more serious as he studies my kind, glowing eyes.

“Cyar’ika, you’re the reason for this…why I’m still alive,” he presses his hand tighter over his rapidly beating heart, and I blush furiously at the intimate, trusting gesture. He’s sharing this wholesome, yet intoxicating closeness - perhaps just as or even more meaningful than taking off his helm - his armorless heart, both figuratively and literally, was proof of his vulnerability and mortality. The act of allowing another so close to him - I feel so trusted, cherished, and truly loved. 

“And because of you _our_ foundling is safe,” he nearly whispers. I’m suddenly breathless myself at the little nuance of his phrasing - _our foundling_. 

I shift and place a kiss over his kar’ta. And gently trace lines over his toned chest and abdomen. His breath catches as his starving skin devours and savors the gentle, loving touches of my healing hands. 

My eyes shift to the recently-healed cut on his bicep - _it looks surgical._ I recognize that much. 

“My mother did this, didn’t she?” I ask, semi-rhetorically as I trace my fingers over the scar. 

Din doesn’t want to break my heart, but his accelerating pulse was confirmation enough. He doesn’t need to say a thing. 

“She tortured you,” I make an educated guess, angry and sickened beyond belief my own mother was even capable or that Gideon had encouraged her. I look away at the wall in shame. I feel a hot energy course over my skin at the thought of my mother harming Din. _I want to help her but part of me never wants to see her again._

“She wasn’t in her right mind,” Din tenderly reaches and guides my chin to look at him. “She didn’t know what she was doing.”

I look at his glass visor. _I want my mother back the way she was. The way I had known her. The fiercely intelligent, well-spoken, and caring physician I had called “mom”. Not the shell of the woman I had seen earlier today. I want Din to know how amazing of a person she is. His first real impression of her, besides my old stories, had been as her surgical subject._ I feel bile rise up my throat, helpless to do anything.

Din feels my trembling anguish and tries to comfort me. He can’t imagine what I’m going through, the pain I must feel would be far, far worse than any physical pain she had inflected upon him.

“Come here, mesh’la,” he encourages me to lay against his torso. I’m reluctant at first, but tears well in my eyes and a waterfall starts from my face. I bury myself deep into his chest, trying my best to avoid his stitches, and let it pour from me. My anger, my confusion, my sorrow - I let it all rush out with the hot water that leaves my eyes.

He holds me tight, trying his best to comfort me, to absorb my pain. _It hurts him magnitudes more than any physical injury hearing such mournful sounds pass my lips and feeling my body quake with agony. His soul aches as he desperately wants to help, but doesn’t quite know how._

Minutes pass and his comforting grip never loosens. My tears finally run dry and my breaths become more steady - I focus on the warm rhythmic chest beneath. I listen to the strong, steady beating of his heart in an attempt to further calm my nerves. A heart my mother had almost stopped - the thought stings my eyes again and another wave of tears begins.

 _I could have lost him -_ the realization harshly washes over me like an angry ocean wave over jagged rocks. I haven’t allowed myself to fully process the entire situation until now.

“Cyar’ika, I’m here,” his chest rumbles as he traces patterns on my back. I lift up for a moment and unlatch my Beskar, leaving just the undersuit. I nuzzle back onto his chest. I need physical contact and I think Din does as well. 

“It’s going to be ok,” he breathes, holding me tight in his arms. His heartbeat’s now calm and strong, telling me, reassuring me _he is alive and safe_. I focus on the gentle, bassy rhythm it plays and my tears begin to fade. 

“I love you, cyar’ika,” he softly murmurs into my hair - I feel his loving sentiment nourish my soul.

“I love you, too, Din,” I whisper over his heart the small, simple words that carry with them so much meaning. _I love you._

With my cheek against the gentle rise and fall of his warm, bare chest, his heart’s lovingly soft lullaby drifts me into a peaceful sleep.


	19. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XIX: Naboo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din, Halarys, and the others reach Naboo and go in search of leads on the whereabouts of the Force-user.

The ship jolts from hyperdrive, waking me from a deep sleep. Din stirs beneath my cheek, his breath and pulse quickening as he awakens. I hold myself close against him for just a moment longer, soaking up his soft skin and loving warmth. _I feel much much better after some rest, but a lingering hint of bitterness still remains at the back of my mind regarding my mother._

“Cyar’ika,” he softly purrs into my hair and wraps his arms around me, pulling me far far away from any sour thoughts. 

_His voice is especially handsome right now, hushed and husky with grogginess, and I can’t resist but graze my fingertips over his lower abdomen, where his soft, dark hair trails thicker down to his…_

“Mando! I think we’ve arrived!” Greef’s deeply enthusiastic voice rumbles through the ship’s belly as he loudly knocks on the door. “You two awake in there?” 

“Definitely awake, Karga,” Din grumbles as he works to sit up, his pants now tighter than usual, no thanks to me. I notice his struggle to shift the fabric to a more comfortable position and I attempt to stifle a giggle, but I’m sure our guests can hear it.

“You two take your time,” Cara loudly announces, voice very heavy with insinuation. “We’re all good out here,” she chuckles. I hear Pershing laugh a little too… _traitor_ , I think as I laugh myself. Din just shakes his head, letting out an embarrassed huff. 

I bend to retrieve my armor and cannot help but brush my backside against his lingering arousal, earning a breathy grunt from his helm.

“You do enjoy frustrating me, don’t you, Hal’ika?” he huskily whispers behind my ear, nearly pinning me against the door as my breastplate snaps into place. I can feel the heat radiating from his silky skin.

 _Now who’s flustering who?_ His shirtless proximity and dominant energy is making my blood rush faster and to areas that make me… _squirm_. I shift between him and the door, turning to face the thirsty Mandalorian ( _I’m just as dehydrated_ ). 

His dark glass gleams down at me as his arm runs above my shoulder to prop himself against the door, keeping me cornered like a panther playing with a deer before it pounces. 

_He’s enjoying this._ And the fact we have guests makes it even more…naughty, fun, and dangerous…

As his ribs expand and contract from his excited state, my doctor-eyes can’t help but travel to his wound.It looks much improved - the inflammation is now subsided and there’s new tissue beneath the already semi-dissolved stitches, sealing the cut.I tenderly brush a few fingertips against its periphery, and Din’s breath catches. 

“I’m sorry,” I begin to apologize, thinking I hurt him.

“No…it feels…good,” Din exhales, dark glass looking in my eyes. _The touches were far from anything painful, instead blissful and loving - he’s not sure my touch will ever stop feeling so incredibly heavenly._

He stands still for a moment, allowing me to continue to examine the wound, which inadvertently revs his engine into hyperdrive again. 

_This woman quite literally takes my breath away_ , he thinks to himself as he watches my skilled hands complete their assessment, thoroughly enjoying the little featherlight touches.

Very confident the wound looks to be infection-free and nearly healed, I bend and place a kiss above it, earning a deep breath from the now tamed predator. I place a gentle kiss over his kar’ta for good measure, its excited rhythm greeting my lips. 

_Someone is quite flustered_ , I giggle to myself. Din peers into my mischievous gaze.

“Alright cyar’ika, I need to land the ship,” he catches his breath, not quite maintaining an authoritative tone, as more than a trace of his reluctance breaks through. The smooth leather of his glove caresses my face as he shuffles past. 

I decide to make it easier for him and back off. I know we have to get going. There’s a very important reason to be moving full-steam ahead.

Din grabs a new undershirt from a storage area.

 _So that’s where he keeps them_ , I observe. _What would he do if a pair of flirty panties found their way in there?_ Another squeaky giggle escapes my lips from the indecent thought. His dark glass snaps up to decipher my devious ideas as I watch him attach his Beskar. 

I close the short distance and decide to behave and actually help with his armoring process, picking up a pauldron. I pass my hand over the handsomely crafted mudhorn emblem and smile. He notices.

“I’ll have to tell you about that sometime,” his dark glass gaze lovingly falls upon me. 

“I’d love that,” I smile and attach the piece to his right shoulder. _I feel so special he’s opening up more and more._ I look at his twinkling helm as he continues dressing; a swell of affection surges in my soul. He’s such a good, kind man.

“Thank you, Din,” I sweetly smile, changing the subject.

“For what?” he cocks his helm, now standing tall and upright, legitimately clueless as to what I’m talking about. 

I step closer and run my hand under his warm cowl.

“For comforting me last night,” I kiss his cool Beskar chest piece, right next to the oblong hexagon symbol in the center. He wraps his arms around my form and envelops me in a nourishing embrace. 

“I love you, cyar’ika,” he hushes, and I feel his breath rush down his helm and his pulse steady. I soak up his loving, caring touch. _I find it hard to believe he had ever been a bounty hunter with how soft a soul he carries._ We linger in each other’s arms for a few moments, healing energy passing between us.

“I think the babe is waking up!” Greef announces, breaking us from our sweet moment.

I look up to Din and smile. “I’ll deal with the green machine,” I say, patting his cuirass.

“No, I got him - you can deal with our guests,” he decides instead, shuffling past with a grunt, and I chuckle.

We open the door and Greef is standing directly outside. 

“I can hear him cooing,” he anxiously informs us, and then stares at the pod.

Din taps his vambrace, instantly unveiling the wide-awake babe. 

“Morning kid,” Din closes-in on his son and nabs the little monster who’s holding onto his froggy plush. “How about you help me land this ship?” The child chirps and coos in response in his daddy’s arms. The father-son duo make their way past Cara and Pershing and up the ladder to the cockpit.

“How did everyone sleep?” I ask, with a soft grin still on my face from watching Din and the babe interact.

“A little rough, to be completely honest, but nothing a massage won’t fix,” Greef rubs at his neck and looks at me pathetically. _I’m not sure if he’s trying to get me to rub his neck, but I’m not a masseuse._

“I’m sure there’s some nice massage stands in Dee’ja Peak,” I shoot down any hope of him receiving a neck massage from me. He turns to Pershing and then Cara. 

_I really have no idea what the city is like. Naboo is supposedly a serenely lush planet from what I have heard. I’d soon find out._

“How about you two?” I ask Cara and Pershing, temporarily bailing them out of Greef’s quest for a massage.

“I think we slept about as good as you and Din,” Cara tries to tease, but catches her fumbled words as soon as they leave her lips. Pershy blushes furiously behind his glasses.

Greef rolls his eyes, still rubbing his neck. “You two were _quite_ close last night,” he chortles.

I snicker at the thought of Cara sleeping _anywhere_ near Pershing… _how is that even possible? But aww, she didn’t strangle him!_

Cara crosses her arms over her chest and gives Greef a stink eye for tattling. “It was for warmth and I felt bad I ruined his jacket. Besides, he has like no insulation. Just look at him,” she logically justifies her actions and looks the slender scientist up and down.

Pershing nods his head in agreement and shrugs at Greef, who just shakes his head, jealous he hadn’t had a snuggle buddy last night.

I can feel the ship start to decelerate in preparation for landing and hear the green bug giggle from the cockpit. 

“Captain Green Bean, how does it look up there?” I ask in a goofy low-pitch accent as I make my way past the group and ascend the ladder. My sight is met by a lackluster fuel station and ship repair shop, its grungy neon sign blinking in the midday light. 

_Not quite the view I had been expecting, but there are pretty trees and flora about_ , I think as I eye lush foliage and colorful potted gardens on the edges of the repair lot.

“I’m making a pitstop for fuel. Tank is low,” Din plainly explains as the ship touches down and the engines decrescendo as they power off. He hands me the happy, large-eyed babe.

“Hey green bean,” I smile and stick my tongue out and he grins and giggles. I look to Din and then out the transparisteel. “Is this Dee’ja Peak?” my voice is unimpressed as he determinedly stalks from his seat to the rear of the cockpit.

“No, we’re on the periphery of Theed, the capital city,” he informs just before he makes his way down the ladder. I follow down with the babbling kid tucked in one arm. _Din is in his “I’m-on-a-mission” mode._

“There’s a marketplace nearby where we can grab some food,” Din offers to the group as the ramp opens.

“Food would be great,” Greef jovially pats his belly. 

_You are my spirit animal right now, Greef,_ I think as my stomach rumbles. The child coos in response with eyes twinkling - he’s hungry as well.

“But after that, we’re on our way to Dee’ja Peak,” Din sternly insists. He steps down the ramp to meet an oil-stained, dusty mechanic.

“What can we do for you today?” the middle-aged woman almost impatiently grumbles, eyes judgmentally scouring over the side of the Crest.

Din hands her a large blue jewel and her eyes widen hilariously. 

“Fuel, tune-up, repair any thin or damaged areas of the hull, and buff out the carbon scoring,” Din orders. “You got an hour,” he roughly elaborates as he stands stoically.

“An hour?” she looks at him like he’s completely nuts. He drops another good-sized gem in her still out-held palm, this time a red one.

“No droids either,” he adds the final stipulation and she momentarily scowls. She holds the sparkling jewels up to the sky and looks through them, checking their authenticity. Satisfied and somewhat surprised they’re genuine, she nods and smiles.

“Yeah, ok, we can make an hour work no problem,” she verifies as she looks in awe at Din. She shouts over her shoulder, “Guys, this one gets priority!” She turns and rattles off the request to her minions working on another ship.

“The Razor Crest is overdue for some TLC,” I pat Din on the shoulder as I walk past. I see a bustling marketplace down the tree-lined street, past other parked ships in the repair lot.

The architecture of buildings was beautifully ancient-looking, exteriors adorned with great archways made of cream stone and topped by large, graceful dome roofs. The babe coos in my arms as Din and I pad from the dingy mechanic depot to the crowded, happy street.

The rest of our group catches up to us and we make our way to the smells of novel street food, brushing past all kinds of races, some I’ve never seen before.

“We should try the breakfast tarts,” Pershing suggests above the noise of the market, pointing at a stand a half dozen meters ahead. “They’re really good.” _He recalls being on Naboo years ago with Shimar Nian, the handsome, wickedly smart biologist he thought he was going to marry…that was before the Empire “recruited” him. He later found his love was amongst the impossible death count from the destruction of Alderaan. He swallows the sickening sadness building in his throat._

“I’m up for that,” Cara smiles at Pershing. _Her bright grin ever-so-slightly lifts his spirits._

“Yeah, that definitely sounds delicious,” Greef chimes in.

“What do you think, bean?” I ask the wide-eyed babe in my arms, who smiles and bounces at my question.

“I think that’s a ‘yes’,” Din decides.

“Tarts it is!” I hold the babe over my head so he has a better vantage point over the crowd. He wildly giggles and passersby smile and awe at the adorable youngling. My arms quickly grow tired and I bring the bug back to my shoulder.

We follow Greef who is in the lead now. The line is a bit long, indicating it’s a popular destination, but thankfully the orders are moving fairly fast.

“The lakeberry tarts are the best,” Pershy enthusiastically informs us.

“I think I’ll have to try one or five if the Doctor recommends it,” Cara winks.

“I’m think we’ll get some too,” I smile at Pershing and bounce the gleeful babe. I study the menu board above the front counter. “Oh Din, they make smoothies here,” I nudge his side. 

“The lakeberry smoothie sounds good to me, cyar’ika,” I can almost hear his smile. I hug into him and the babe paws at his helm.

“Hey there kid, careful,” Din warns with a chuckle and scratches his ear to give attention. The little bugger is getting antsy.

Greef makes his order first. “Two lakeberry tarts and a large café latte with lowfat, free-range bantha milk please. Oh and anything the next five in my group would like - keep the change,” he hands the vendor a handsome amount of credits. 

“Of course,” the cashier nods and then shouts Greef’s order to the baristas and bakery hands who immediately go to work on the order.

“Wow, thanks old man,” Cara smiles with surprise. _Greef is normally cheap._

“Thank you,” Pershing nods. 

“Thanks, Greef” I smile at him and Din nods his gratitude.

Cara and Pershing place their orders next, each ordering five lakeberry tarts with a tall glass of whole-fat bantha milk.

“What would you like?” the cashier asks, smiling at us, but especially at the intrigued babe who watches wide-eyed with ears focused on the workers rapidly preparing orders.

“Three lakeberry tarts, one medium glass of lowfat bantha milk and a large lakeberry smoothie with an extra long straw please. That will be all for the group,” I complete the order. 

We wait off to the side as they work on it. Greef is already taking his first bite.

“Gods these are most delicious!” Greef boisterously muffles through a large bite.

Cara and Pershing’s order is next. 

“These better be good, doctor,” she gives him her best death glare to tease him, making him gulp. _He’s still not quite sure if it’s an actual threat._ She then smiles as she reaches into the bag he’s holding. He watches her take a big bite.

Her eyes roll into the back of her head and she makes an exaggerated “mmmmmm”. 

“Told you they were good,” he victoriously reaches in for his pastry.

“Here you go,” a bakery hand sets our order on the counter, grabbing my attention. _I was enjoying watching Cara and Pershing being civil._

“Thanks!” I shift the babe to my hip and reach to juggle the order, but Din’s hands snatch the bag and his smoothie. I grab the milk for the babe and I to share. I smile at Din, thoroughly enjoying the outing.

We join our group, who are already chowing down on their second round of goodies. We all decide to retreat to a somewhat less-crowded area under some tall trees, next to a picturesque fountain a dozen or so meters down the street. No benches were available, but at least hips and shoulders weren’t bumping us here.

Din balances the open bag in the crook of his smoothie arm so he has a free hand. He reaches in and grabs a tart maintaining the paper guard so his dirty gloves don’t contaminate it.

“Here kid,” he offers the first bite to the anxiously awaiting bug who quickly takes a bite. He gutturally chirps in glee and immediately grabs it from Din’s hands.

I laugh at the crumb-and-berry-filling-covered bundle-of-ears in my arms as he devours the goodie.

Din reaches into the bag again and brings the tart to my lips. The kind, public gesture makes me blush.

“I guess I get the special treatment, huh?” I say just before I take a bite and it crumbles in my mouth. _Gods, it really is amazing. Not too sweet. The tartness of the berry balances well with the sweet, buttery crust._

“Your hands are a little busy,” Din’s voice is heavy with a smile, watching my face contort with pleasure.

“I’m saving you one to try later - you have to,” I say through another delicious bite. Din sips on his smoothie as he feeds me.

“How is it?” I ask nodding to his smoothie as he drains nearly a third of the large cup. 

“Very good,” he murmurs and then leans down beside my ear. “But I bet not nearly as delicious as kissing those crumbs off your lips,” he whispers just as I take another giant bite from his hand. I nearly choke on my mouthful at his seductive, playful tone and the mention of _kissing?_ My face was a real mess and now blushing fiercely, but the pastry is so darn good.

“Aren’t they so good?” Cara asks me.

“Hells yeah,” I mumble through a mouthful. “Great recommendation Pershy!” I raise my cup to him and he nods with a sheepish grin.

“Pershing ate six. I could only stuff in four. I still don’t know how he fit it all in,” Cara shares, sounding impressed. I smile that they are getting along quite well now.

I notice Greef had found a masseuse stand on the other side of the fountain. He was laying slack, face first in a massage chair with a green female Twi’lek working on the knot in his neck. _Greef gets his massage after all_ , I chuckle to myself.

The babe finishes his last bite and burps. He’s an absolute mess. I offer him bantha milk and he eagerly sucks down about half of it, earning another burp.

 _You have a very large capacity stomach, don’t you bug?_ I snicker at his big appetite for such a wee one. I can feel his content energy, warm and sunny like the current weather.

Now that Din’s finished his smoothie, he produces a napkin from the bag and wipes the berry residue from the little hands and face. He grabs the sated child from my arms and hands me the bag. He brushes the crumbs from his son’s little robe.

I reach in the bag to finish the remainder of my pastry, saving the last one for Din. 

Din watches as my pretty face gets just about as berry-and-crumb-coated as the foundling’s, making him chuckle with endearment. _I want to marry this woman_ , he thinks to himself and his heart quickens at the happy thought. _She’s a good mom to you_ , he looks down at his son, resting against his chest.

“Karr-tahh,” the little babe gurgles out. Din’s heart falters at the child’s word and he blushes beneath his helm.

“Did he speak again?” I muffle through the last big bite, a few crumbs spraying from my mouth as I ask, making me snort. _Real cute, Halarys_ …

Din finds my messy eating incredibly adorable.

“Yeah, he did,” Din exhales, thoroughly enamored by the dark purple staining my lips.

“Karr-tahhh,” he squeaks again, placing a hand flat against Din’s Beskar. I smile at the smart little guy.

Din feels a tingling sensation spread in his chest from the little hand. It feels pleasant, like warmth. _The kid seems to approve of the marriage idea too_ , Din thinks. He gently grabs the child’s hand from his chest when the energy starts feeling a bit stronger, not wanting to tempt the curious babe to start “Force-experimenting” on his kar’ta. 

“Din are you ok?” I ask, noticing his breathing is a little heavy.

“Yep,” he curtly replies and hands the squeaking little green bean back to me. I look at him and the babe. _Are you bugging your daddy?_ He loudly chirps at me, with ears perked up and a mischievous look in his eyes.

Greef finally joins the group again, feeling 10 years younger. 

“As much as I like Nevarro, we don’t have _that_ ,” Greef tells us all and waves at the Twi’lek masseuse.

Din now notices two suspicious figures in the crowd watching us. _They wear white and brown robes and stand stoically as if monitoring us - he doesn’t think they are Imperials, but he doesn’t want to take the chance._

“Let’s get back to the ship,” Din orders, keeping an eye on the two odd men in robes watching.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, noticing his preoccupied gaze.

“Not yet, but I don’t want to wait here and find out,” Din looks to me for a second and then looks back. 

_._

_._

_._

_The two have vanished._

_._

_._

_._

_What in the hells?_ he thinks and he scans the area for any trace. _Nothing._

“Is someone following us?” I hold the babe closer who’s also attentively looking in the direction. He coos and I feel a familiar, eerie energy that makes my hair stand on-end for a moment. It then quickly fades.

“I’m not sure,” Din scans the area one more time. 

_They had vanished in thin air._

Cara and Greef glance around for any potential threats. 

“Let’s go,” Din gestures to the group, now on-edge. 

_I suddenly felt a little foolish for enjoying myself as much as I am and letting my guard down. This is a crowded place and we should make ourselves a bit more sparse._

We brush through the thick crowd and make our way back to the fuel hub.

.

.

.

“Hey Mando, you’re back early. We just need about fifteen more minutes,” the mechanic roughly reports.

“You got one minute,” he says as he flings her a small clear gem, which she snatches midair as swiftly as a frog catches a fly.

“Ok,” she immediately agrees as we all board the ship. She crows at her crew to pick it up and wrap it up.

The door hisses shut and Din’s already up in the cockpit. I shuffle up the ladder with the babe in one arm and the pastry bag pinned under my elbow. I set the treat beside Din’s seat and seat myself in the copilot chair.

His dark glass watches the mechanic give a thumbs up for take off. He wastes no time flipping at switches and pressing buttons ( _in a sequence that still makes no sense to me_ ) and the engines crescendo to life.

We ascend with smooth ease and much quieter than what I had grown accustomed to. _The tune up seems to have done the ship some noticeable good._

The babe giggles as Din urges the ship forward and we press against our seats. The beautiful city adorned with lush greenery, fountains and ornate architecture rushes past below. We suddenly reach the city’s edge. Din tilts the ship so we can see the waterfalls stream from the city and down the cliff-side into a pristine, surging river. 

He briefly glances to our awestruck, wide-eyes and smiles beneath his helm, feeling his kar’ta warm from the joy on our faces. _He wants to show us all the magnificent sights the galaxy has to offer - and there are no two other souls he’d rather do so with._

The green bean and I watch in wonderment as many bright blue lakes and ponds sparkle, scattered below, enveloped by emerald green fauna. 

We pass over some small mossy hills, speckled with grazing, large, round ruminant creatures (shaaks) - and the beautiful green continues for as far as the eye can see. Some rocky ruins pass below just before we glide over a very large lake.

“That’s a big bath, isn’t that bean?” I ask, his face very enthralled and large eyes agape at the twinkling water.

We pass over some more rivers and smaller lakes surrounded by peaceful, little villages. Then, great mossy, green mountains appear ahead. Din pulls the ship to a higher altitude, bringing us to the proper elevation. Smaller peaks of the tree and fauna adorned mountain range rush underneath, revealing trickling waterfalls and pools of beautiful calm water collected in little flat areas as we pass overhead.

As we draw nearer to the higher peaks, I make out a great waterfall cascading next to an ancient stone city, nestled into the mountain top. 

“Is that?” My eyes widen. 

“Yep. Dee’ja Peak,” he confirms.

Dee’ja Peak is in fact aptly named. It sits in the peak of a mountain. It’s gorgeous.

Din eyes a flat, mossy area just outside the city. A large stone bridge leads to its great entryway.

He positions the ship and we gently land on the soft mountain. He powers down the engines with practiced ease and we make our way below to the rest of our crew.

“What _exactly_ is the plan?” Cara asks Din, her brow furrowed as she digs through his artillery for a new toy to bring along just in case.

“We split into two groups: You, Karga, and Pershing and then me, Halarys, and the kid. Ask around - cantinas, markets, back alleys, you name it. See if any locals know anything about a Force-user,” Din tells the group. “Meet back here before sundown,” he gruffly instructs, pressing the ramp control.

The door hisses open and I grab my medic bag just in case.

“Is it safe to bring him?” I ask Din as I bounce the babe in my arms and swing the bag over my shoulder, still feeling uncomfortable from Theed.

“I think it’s best to keep him close,” Din decides. _He hates leaving him alone in the ship and dislikes the idea of splitting up the group further by having someone stay behind to child-sit._

We make our way down the ramp, the cool and fresh air sweet with mountain blooms, and also noticeably thinner. The waterfall thunders powerfully next to the city, which is smaller than but equally as stunning as Theed.

“It’s beautiful,” I can’t help but share my feelings. _What’s not to like about waterfalls?_

Din takes note of how I admire the cascading waterfall and the mountainous peaks above - he soaks up my sunny smile. The child coos and gurgles a “krrr” noise, trying to say the only word he’s spoken, which grabs both of our attention again. He giggles amusedly at the reaction he elicits.

“If he keeps saying that, we might have to name him Kar, or something like that,” I scritch his fuzzy ear. 

Din half-chuckles. _Not a bad idea_ , he thinks.

As we make it to the great stone bridge, I soak up the serene scenery. The mountains here are breathtaking and that isn’t just the higher altitude. The babe coos in my arms and points at a large pastel rainbow created by the cascade’s fine mist.

“As a former-magistrate, I visited this citadel a couple times many years ago,” Greef proclaims. “It’s still as beautiful as ever.” As he takes in the views, tears form in his eyes, recalling bittersweet memories of a past life ( _he hated the terror the Empire had brought to this beautiful planet_ ).

 _Greef used to be a magistrate? For the Empire?_ I want to ask our babysitter so many questions, but decide not to prod.

We make our way over the bridge, through the grand entrance. The roaring waterfall is close enough to feel the fine mist in the air carried by a gentle mountain breeze. We head into the ancient city, greeted by all kinds of races walking about, but it’s a bit less crowded and slower-paced compared to Theed.

“Alright, meet back at the ship before sundown,” Din tells the other group. They nod and Greef leads them to his best idea for a starting point - an old pub. _Some of the best gossip happens where alcohol is involved._

Judging by the sky, the sun would set in a few hours or so, I determine.

I look down to the wide-eyed little one in my arms who is overwhelmed with all the new stimulation and then shift my gaze to Din.

“Where should we begin, my Beskar bounty hunter?” I quirk my eyebrow, feeling a flirtatious surge of attraction calling him that. _I can’t lie - it turns me on that he’s a skilled tracker and excels at hand-to-hand combat…kriff, he can hunt me down any day._

The babe giggles at my energy, which makes me embarrassed about my wandering mind. Din’s helm turns to me, studying my blushed face and wondering what has me flustered, but he quickly returns his thoughts back to his gameplan. 

“Let’s start at the marketplace, ask some vendors. If we come up dry, we move onto the back alleys,” he determines. 

“Sounds good - more shopping?” I smile to the alert child, his ears perked taking in the sounds and sights. I nuzzle his soft green head.

Din stops for a moment, distracted by my bright skin and smile and savoring my gentle interaction with his son. He can’t help but notice how my smile sends his thoughts all to mush and his knees weak. The way I care for the foundling, brings the softest of grins to his face beneath his helm. _I am very certainly in love with her_ , he thinks to himself as his heart pitter-patters.

The child very loudly squeaks at a small fuzzy pet on the end of a leash, snapping Din from his lovely daydream. He looks into my aquamarine eyes and finds the daydream is reality; a delighted sigh escapes past his lips.

I extend my hand for Din and he accepts the invitation. _I feel a honey-sweet happiness in my soul from holding this man’s gloved hand._

We walk through some stone archways and find the quaint market, which was considerably less busy than Theed’s. There are still a good couple hundred patrons meandering about the dozens of stands, selling things ranging from tourist-y baubles and rugged outdoor gear to designer clothing and fancy food. 

We approach a Gungan vendor selling fresh fish according to the sign ( _it doesn’t smell too fresh_ ). The child giggles intensely as he watches the Gungan announce sing-songily the catch-of-the-day special. Din closes in fast on our first target.

“Oh look, it’s a…a Mandalorian! What can mees get you?” he proclaims in an exaggerated voice. The babe stops laughing. _Perhaps it’s the rotten fish smell?_

“Gungan, have you heard of any Force-users around here recently?” Din cuts to the point.

“Hhhhmmm, mees don’t know about that,” he crosses his arms.

“Perhaps this will loosen your annoying lips,” Din huffs annoyedly and offers a small green gem.

“Oh yes, definitely!” He goes to reach for it, but Din pulls it back out of reach.

“Information first,” Din gruffly demands.

“Hmmmm,” the Gungan seems less happy now. “Tell you what, you buy a fish then mees talk,” he holds up an especially decayed specimen and I nearly gag as the eyeball pops out and fluids drain on the counter. 

Din growls and reaches over the counter, slapping the dead fish from his hand and grabbing the fishmonger by the vest. The babe giggles at the violence. _Oh jeepers._

“How about you tell me what you know, and you get to swim home tonight with all your limbs?” he jerks the Gungan’s collar.

“Din!” I scold him for roughing up a citizen, as annoying and fraudulent as this citizen is. 

The Beskar bounty hunter turns and huffs at me, knowing I’m not approving of his methods, but he needs results. Din considers his next move: _Excessive force versus threat?_

“You should listen to your sexy slave girl and let mees go,” the vendor checks me out. 

_Force it is,_ Din decides in under a nanosecond. 

He yanks the Gungan over the counter and pins him against the front. _I suddenly have less sympathy for the rotten fish peddler._ I’m a little late at shielding the babe’s eyes, which watch like Din’s actions are completely normal. _Yeah, bounty-hunter-Din is not exactly a great role model for a child…_

Passersby start gasping and gawking at the spectacle.

_I’m so embarrassed now._

“Din, you’re going to get us kicked out,” I hiss at him, only mildly appalled by his behavior. The Gungan seems shady as all hells, but the crowd Din was drawing should be proof enough this isn’t socially acceptable.

“He sold me bad fish last week!” a man’s voice comes from the crowd. 

“I was in the hospital with a parasite infection for three days!” a young Trandoshan growls from the back.

“He charged me twice the market price for deep lake bluebass,” a woman chimed in.

“I had the runs for a week from his supposed ‘fresh-catch-of-the-day’,” a blue Mythrol proclaims.

“Beat him up Mando!” a very young kid boisterously shouts.

“Beat him up! Beat him up! Beat him up!” The thirsty crowd starts chanting.

Din glances at the audience then at the Gungan.

“Sounds like you don’t have many happy customers,” Din gestures with his head at the angry mob.

“Okay, if you don’t hurt mees, mees tell you what you want to know,” the shady Gungan works the leverage.

Din waits a few beats as the blood thirsty onlookers continue their chant. He looks at me and I give him a reprimanding glare.

“Fine,” Din lets him go and the crowd boos. They slowly disperse now the show’s over.

“Tell us,” I step closer with the babe. The Gungan looks at me and then at Din as if calculating how he can escape.

“Don’t even think of it,” Din reads his movements.

“Have there been Force-users in this area?” I ask.

“Maybe,” he crosses his arms defiantly, the large, draping fin-like projections on his head shifting flat.

“Answer her straight,” Din threatens, punching the stand, knocking a dent in the front sign.

“Hey leave mees shop out of it!” he squawks, with hands pressing on the sides of his face, genuinely upset - a new finding that Din will surely leverage. He aims his fist for another punch at the sign.

“Ok! Yes, yes! There was a monk of some sorts. She was rude and made mees fish all disappear a few times,” he screeches.

“When did you last see the monk?” Din asks. A few moments pass and there’s no response. He raises his fist again to hit the ramshackle fish stand.

“No, don’t punch it,” the Gungan pleads. 

“Then answer the question,” Din dryly orders.

“Ok, ok. Mees saw them about two months ago. It was rumored they left,” his animated voice reports.

“Where? Where did they leave to?” Din demands.

“Mees don’t know,” the Gungan shakes his head.

Din aims for another whack.

“No! Mees really don’t know! Mees don’t know!” he frantically holds his head in his hands.

_Wrong answer._

Din punches the sign again and it falls to the ground. The Gungan falls to his knees, distraught at the sight of his sketchy fish stand sign damaged and laying on the ground.

Din tosses the jewel at his knees as originally promised.

“Start selling clean stuff,” Din growls over his shoulder, almost immediately regretting his decision to give the Gungan anything.

“Oh yes, most definitely kind sir,” the fishmonger’s tone does a 180 as he holds his prize.

“Well that was a whole lot of nothing,” I exhale, shaking my head as I follow behind Din. The babe coos at his Beskar dad in what seems like admiration. _Oh gods, I wonder how many beatings this kid has watched Din deal out. Then again, I probably don’t want to know…_

We make our rounds and ask the other vendors, who are all much more cooperative after seeing Din’s handiwork with the fish stand. 

No one knows anything more than what we had already known: _That the monk had left about two months ago._

The sun starts to creep lower in the sky, telling us it’s time to get moving back to the ship. _Maybe the others had better luck?_ I attempt staying optimistic.

As we head out, a toy vendor plays with some puppets which has the kid **very** excited. He shrieks and giggles at the simple hand puppets of make-believe characters. I give in to his pleading eyes and walk over to let him see. He laughs and points with his clawed hand at a large-mouthed red frog-like creature. When I don’t hand it to him, he decides to help himself. The puppet levitates and bobs through the air.

“Bean!” I scold, grabbing at his greedy hands, but he’s intent on obtaining his toy. The toymaker’s mouth drops open almost as comically as his puppets’.

Din watches from the corner of his eye the same dark-cloaked figure that has been hovering in the vicinity since around the time we arrived. It might be a woman - Din can only judge from the size and body habitus, as the face is hidden. He’s been keeping tabs on her. 

He doesn’t want me to worry, so he decides now was a good time to investigate while I had my hands full. _Sorry cyar’ika_ , he thinks in his head, feeling guilty for leaving me alone with the greedy green bean.

He turns to confront the mysterious figure. It doesn’t move as he approaches. 

_Maybe it isn’t spying_ , he thinks for a moment.

The figure suddenly and swifty steps forward to close the distance, and before Din can draw his blaster, she speaks three syllables that stop him dead in his tracks:

“Din Djarin,” the deep, feminine voice addresses him. 

“This is for you,” she holds up a note with an unmistakably familiar symbol. 

_It can’t be…_ he feels his heart stop and then quickly turn over inside his now-heaving chest. 

“Come alone after sundown,” she speaks calmly and quickly into his earpiece, and then impossibly slips away into the dinner crowd before he can apprehend her. He never even saw her face. He’s stunned, motionless.

“Who was that?” I ask inquisitively as I approach Din with the kid now contently holding his new toy. _The vendor had gotten freaked out by his levitating trick and demanded we take the toy, free of charge._

“Not sure,” Din hides the note out of view. _His mind was still trying to wrap around what this could mean._

“Weird people…probably wanted to wear your helmet for a photo, huh?” I playfully poke his side.

“Probably,” Din plays along. _The anticipation of tonight is almost too much for him to bear._


	20. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XX: The Mudhorn Clan of Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din has a secret meeting - with whom and for what could it be? Exciting changes are in store.

My stomach grumbles as the mouth-watering aromas of various restaurants waft in the dusk mountain air, reminding me we haven’t eaten since breakfast. 

“How about we grab dinner?” I smile at the naughty, but content child in my hands as he plays with his contraband puppet. My eyes then shift to Din’s dark glass, awaiting his response. “Din?”

“Sure,” he curtly replies, seemingly distracted. _He more deeply tucks the important note in his belt, out of view._

“How about that take-out place over there?” I point at a busy noodle shop. I can smell the savory spices from here.

“Fine, but we should be on our way right after,” his voice is rushed as he looks at the pink sunset staining the sky. _He wants to leave as soon as I’m asleep tonight. It absolutely wrenches his guts for keeping this a secret from me, but it’s for the best until he can be certain. And the instructions had been clear: ‘Come alone’._

“Noodles?!” I say in a squeaky voice using my hand like a puppet to talk. It makes the greedy bean laugh and he tries to mimic with his puppet, but his clawed digits are a bit too small. We walk over to the back of the somewhat long line. 

Din still appears preoccupied, staring blankly if I’m not mistaken. I decide to be a bit naughty to draw his attention. _I’m greedy like the child._

“So, how about we cuddle again tonight?” I whisper to the underside of his helm and reach my free hand under his cape to indulge in the swell of his muscled backside. No one can see my indecent actions under the cover of the fabric. 

_Oh but Din can feel it._

“Halarys,” he breathily scolds and quickly, but gently, grabs my hand with that viper-grip. 

_Now I have his attention._

“So what do you say, my Mandalorian warrior?” I wink at him and wrap my free arm around his waist. I look up at the Beskar man for an answer and the babe giggles at my dramatically pouty face. _For a moment, he feels my soft gaze tug at his tough heartstrings, but he needs to stay on his task._

“I would love to, Hal’ika, but I might need to follow up on some leads,” he avoids a direct answer. _He’s not sure how he can sneak out if I’m using him as a pillow, which I usually do (and he very much enjoys)._

“What leads? No one seemed to know anything useful,” I counter, watching the other patrons ahead as we move up in line and then scan the menu. The salty noodles smell amazing and make my taste buds water.

“Greef is quite good at finding information,” Din retorts, trying to maintain his excuse to skip on cuddling.

“But you need to get rest too,” I reply as I softly poke his chest piece. _He can’t stay up all night._

We are next in line and I turn to the smiling cashier. “I’ll take a large vegetable tempeh noodle stir fry and whatever he wants,” I cheerfully point at Din.

“Uh, no thanks,” Din declines the meal. 

“They have bone broth,” I point at the drinkable menu item. “You need to eat,” I retort, studying his dark helm.

“I’ll eat something on the ship,” Din curtly replies to me as he hands some credits to the cashier.

“Ok,” I respond, somewhat bluntly. I turn to the cashier, “That’ll be all I guess.” _The bug and I will split the meal._

We step aside as they fill the order. 

“Are you feeling ok?” I notice his breathing is now more rapid than his usual resting rate, so I go to reach for my scanner. _I can’t shut off the doctor-mode and when your loved one doesn’t have facial expressions to read, body language and vitals are the next best things._

He sees me going for that infernal scanner and knows he can’t hide his stressed state. I’ll definitely know something is awry. 

“I’m just fine, cyar’ika, really,” Din tries his hardest to sell it and caresses my face gently. I briefly melt into his gentle touch, which seems a little shaky. 

_He’s trying to distract me_ , I think. My expression suddenly isn’t satisfied with the answer and I go to reach for the scanner again. 

_Kriff_ , he thinks. _He needs an excuse and fast…_

“I just really need to use the vacc-tube, ok?” Din blurts out the first thing that pops into his Beskar-covered-head, much louder than intended, which has everyone in the vicinity looking at him. At least it’s something I can’t argue with.

“Oh,” I sheepishly mutter. _That would definitely cause some urgency. No wonder he’s extra antsy to return to the ship._

“Here you go miss,” the worker hands me our order and looks at Din. “There are public facilities right over there, sir, if you need,” she politely offers. Din’s eyes roll under his helm.

“Thank you,” he grumbles, earning a quiet giggle from the worker.

Green bean immediately smells our food and wants it, reaching with gimmie hands. I can’t keep it from him so I hand it to Din to carry. 

“We have to wait until we get back to the ship,” I say to him, hoping he doesn’t use the Force to get his way. His eyes look very sad. I distract him from the disappointment by (horribly off-key) singing songs that were popular back in the day.

Din smiles widely under his helm, thoroughly enjoying the out-of-tune and somewhat inaccurate renditions as we make our way through town and back over the bridge to the parked ship. 

_I love her so much_ , he thinks as he watches me sing and smile in the mountaintop twilight, his foundling lovingly in my arms. _He hates keeping this secret from me - the note - but he desperately hopes he has his answers after tonight…and a blessing._

The rest of our group is faithfully waiting for us outside the ship, eating their own dinner and chatting.

“Hey M-Mando! G-good news!” Greef announces as he stands up from the mossy, rocky ground, coursing a bit off-balance and Cara spot checks him. 

_Seems he had indulged himself in some of the local brews._

“We f-found s-someone wh-who thinks the F-Force p-person might still b-be in the m-mountains here!” he proudly proclaims, gesturing exaggeratedly with his arms to the great peaks.

Din looks at Cara for confirmation. 

She shakes her head. “I don’t know if the person was a reliable source. Seemed to be the town drunkard.”

“They w-were r-reliable,” Greef hiccups, standing his ground.

“They were talking to people that weren’t there,” Cara shakes her head at Greef. “We sort of came up empty,” she grimaces at Din, feeling bad for lack of results. Pershing’s glasses twinkle seeing the Child. 

“We didn’t have much better luck either,” Din admits, defeatedly, as he opens the ramp.

“Better luck tomorrow?” Pershing tries to keep it positive.

“Yeah,” Cara claps the scientist roughly on the back, earning a grunt. “Tomorrow’s another day.”

They pick up their dinner and go to finish it in the ship.

“Oh Din, we can wait outside if you need to use the facilities,” I say loud enough for the group to hear.

“I’m good now,” Din replies, earning a quizzical look from me.

“Did you go in your armor?” I can’t help but prod. The babe laughs at my confused facial expression.

“No, I just don’t have to go anymore,” Din monotones, hopeful the nondescript answer will end my questioning.

“When _was_ the last time you went?” I squint for an answer. _I’m getting suspicious._

“Alright, this is getting a bit personal, so I’m going to be up in the cockpit,” Cara chuckles as she walks past and up the ramp. Greef and Pershing follow, trying to stay out of our bickering.

Din looks at me and then turns to enter the ship. 

_Oh no. You’re not going to ignore me._ I close the distance and grab his wrist, with no intention to move until he talks to me.

He looks down at my hand as I feel his hurried pulse. My face grows more worried.

“Din-,” I start. _Clearly he’s distressed about something._ He suddenly pulls me and the babe close, catching me off-guard, and scoops me in his arms, managing to juggle our take-out bag too. He lifts us the rest of the way up the ramp and sets us down inside. The gesture and closeness has me distracted, but only momentarily.

“What’s up with you tonight?” I ask, concerned, as he closes the ramp. Everyone else is hiding up in the cockpit, away from our tense discussion. “You’ve been acting more aloof and odder than usual,” I study his Beskar helmet. “And your pulse is racing.”

 _Kriff, she’s onto me_ , he thinks. His mind races for a plausible explanation.

“I’m just tired and adjusting to the altitude,” he tries to be vague and hands me the take-out bag. I notice his dark glass is not quite directed at me.

I eye him as he saunters his way to the food synthesizer and makes himself a bowl of Mandalorian chili in silence. _He hopes the act of selfcare will convince me he’s fine._ But it only has me more suspicious.

“I’m examining you after dinner,” I say with a tone of finality. _Maybe his wound isn’t as healed as I had thought, which would explain his elevated respiratory rate and pulse._

He almost chokes on his chili as he takes the first sips through a straw. _He has to try to meditate to calm his nerves. That kriffing scanner will confirm his heightened state and have me more worried and asking even more questions._

I sit smugly on the floor with the babe in my lap and spin the first bite of noodles. The little green bean opens his mouth, quickly taking the mouthful, and squeaks with glee at the new flavors. 

I look at Din, hoping he’s ok. _Maybe I had upset him somehow? Was it because of my disapproval at his more physical tactics with the Gungan?_

 _What’s got your dad acting so odd?_ I think to the bug as I feed him a bite of tempeh. I take my own bite. _Mmmmmm, it’s so good._ My eyes instantly close as I savor the rich umami flavor.

Din watches me as he finishes his own meal, enjoying the delightfully banal scene of me feeding the kid and taking bites for myself in-between. He sees I’m thoroughly enjoying the food and hopes it gets me to forget my interrogation. He fills two glasses of water and brings one to me and sits himself down to join us.

“He’s hungry,” Din states the obvious as the kid continues taking large bites, and grabbing noodles that spill out the sides of his mouth, not leaving a morsel uneaten.

“It’s hard work Force-thefting toys,” I shake my head and chuckle at the naughty, messy green tyrant. _He desperately needs a teacher. I’m also a little sour at Din for leaving me when the babe had been misbehaving. But maybe Din is acting odd because our foundling is now using his powers more casually? Maybe he feels anxious like any parent would at such behavior? I wish he would just tell me…I thought he had been opening up more. But I also know being more forthcoming is a big change for him, from his reserved Mandalorian ways. Maybe I need to be more patient and understanding._ I suddenly feel guilty for badgering him earlier.

I watch him stroke the babe’s ear as the kid enjoys the final bites. _He’s a good father, if not always a perfect role model. I love him, more than I’ve ever loved someone. My soul is drawn to his with an unrelenting magnetic energy. Such love is as strong and rare as his Beskar - of that I’m certain. I trust him completely. He holds my heart and soul in those handsome leather gloves of his. And had I gladly given them._

“Cyar’ika, let me clean up the kid,” he snatches the messy monster before he can rub his saucey face and hands everywhere. He wipes the griminess away with a wet cloth.

The others stay hidden up in the cockpit for a few more minutes as the little green machine is set loose and starts playing with his new toy. Satisfied our disagreement is over, the trio climb down to join us. 

Cara approaches and glances at me and the child, then looks Din squarely in his visor. “Mando, as fun as this is, I was thinking of heading back to Deridian soon. I am after all the town sheriff,” she admits.

Din’s heart sinks a little, but he isn’t at all surprised. Cara deserved the slower-paced stability and relaxation of Deridian X-9, much like what she had been trying to obtain on Sorgan before Din messed that up.

“And that town could use a doctor,” she roughly nudges Pershing who blushes while pushing up his glasses.

“It would be a nice change of pace,” Pershing nods, “and a fresh start.”

 _Wow, Cara is really getting along with Pershy._ It made my face hurt with glee.

“And I should return to Nevarro. I have a Bounty Guild to run,” Greef shrugs his shoulders, now more sober.

Din had been hoping the crew would stay together longer, but he knows they all have their own duties and lives. However far away, they’ll still be his family - and they are more than capable of taking care of themselves ( _well, Cara will need to protect Pershing, but she can handle that no problem_ ).

The Mandalorian stands tall and stoic before the group. “Thank you everyone - and for everything you’ve done to help me, the kid and Halarys,” Din addresses his family. They all smile. “We couldn’t have made it this far without your help,” he continues and looks absently at the ship’s floor, thinking how truly indebted he is to everyone present (and those not present). But he has one more favor to request. “Could I ask that we try one more day in the city to search for leads on the monk?” His dark glass glints in the ship’s lights.

“We’d stay however long you asked,” Greef grabs Din’s shoulder and looks him in the visor, almost teary-eyed if I’m not mistaken. _Greef, you big softy you_.

“Yes, what the old man said,” Cara nods. Greef shoots her a sideways glance. _He’s not old, he’s “experienced”._

Pershing’s glasses catch the ship’s lights as he nods to Din. “Whatever I can do to help - I am at your service,” he sincerely offers, looking Din straight in the dark glass. _Pershing owes him his life for freeing him from Gideon’s bidding._

“Thank you,” Din nods at his crew, truly thankful for their faithfulness and loyalty. He could live a thousand lifetimes and never come close to repaying them for their kindness.

The babe yawns dramatically, making us all look. His head starts nodding off, puppet still in hand. 

“Time for lights out, I think,” I announce as I go to scoop up the sleepy green bean. He coos, settling against my breast. I set him in his pod and Din comes over to help tuck him in. _My heart oozes a sticky sweetness from the saccharine, gentle actions of the bounty hunter. My heart never grows tired of watching Din’s tender affections toward our foundling._

“Night, you little womp rat,” Din hushes to the now sleeping babe, just before he shuts the pod.

“I’m going to take a seat in the cockpit tonight,” Greef shares, rubbing his neck. “The floor is just a little too rough on my seasoned joints.”

“Night Greef,” I smile as he turns and makes his way up to the cockpit. 

“Night everyone,” Greef nods from the ladder.

“I’m fine with the floor,” Cara shrugs. Pershing nods in agreement.

Din dims the ship’s lights.

“Goodnight,” I whisper to our guests as Din and I retreat to the bedroom and close the door. 

He feels his blood pressure ticking upward. He needs to keep it cool. The ship is suddenly very quiet and he thinks I can hear his nervous heart from where I sit upon the bed as I remove my medic bag and Beskar armor. He tries to take some deep breaths to calm the runaway pace building under his breastbone, which helps somewhat. It will make his getaway less slick, but he decides to remove his cuirass to decrease any lingering suspicion. He lays flat on his back on the glorified cot, beckoning me to cuddle.

I shift to snuggle against his soft warmth and he wraps his arms around me. _It’s the best feeling in the galaxy, I swear it on the heavens._ ButI immediately notice he sounds anxious - I speak for him, “I’m sorry for inundating you with questions tonight. I feel foolish for not realizing sooner that you’re processing the kid’s growing talents and his misbehavior…like at the market today. And the fact we still don’t have a solid lead on the monk - I realize that’s stressful. I’m stressed by it too,” I snuggle into him further, my head resting on his chest. His heart still swiftly pounds, but his shoulders now seem more relaxed.

“Thanks Cyar’ika,” he murmurs. _My words aren’t entirely untrue. He is unnerved by the foundling’s indiscretion at using his gift and especially so when he uses it to get his way, but the real reason for his current anxiety was something else entirely: The secret meeting tonight._

“We’re going to find someone. I know it,” I whisper in reassurance over his strongly pulsating chest. He feels himself slowly drift to a calmer state as he focuses on the feeling of my closeness, and the gentler rhythm lulls me to sleep. He listens and feels my gentle breaths against him. It has him paralyzed at how beautiful I am, sleeping so peacefully against him, the lovely caretaker of his kar’ta. 

He waits for a good ten minutes just to ensure I’m out. Now the hard part: _Shifting her off without waking her,_ he thinks.

He slowly uncurls his arm that trails behind my back and around my waist. I don’t even stir. He very carefully shifts his torso, slowly working my head from his chest. I move just a bit and he immediately freezes. He waits a few moments. I don’t wake so he continues and works my head off him and to the pillow instead. He slowly unwraps my hand from his waist and gently sets it on the bed. 

_She’s still asleep, thank gods_ , he thinks, palms sweaty from the stress. No bounty chase even comes close to the trembling nerves he feels from sneaking away from his love right now. He quietly rises from the bed, being as careful as possible not to wake me. 

_He’s never had much practice slipping out of bed from a woman before….well save for Xi’an, who had liked her knives a bit too much (Din isn’t much into knife-play…or the thoughtless murders of innocents, but that’s another story). He definitely doesn’t want the practice of abandoning me in bed_ \- he hopes this is a one-time thing. He attaches his cuirass with a slight click.

I stir and roll over, causing Din’s heart to jump vigorously against his Beskar chestpeice. He stands as still as a statue, almost holding his own breath as he waits until my breathing becomes steady again. Satisfied I’m still asleep, he slowly opens the door and closes it behind him. 

He knows he’ll wake the others opening the door, so he heads it now. Pershing is already snoring and Greef’s loud snores are audible all the way from the cockpit.

“Mando?” Cara’s harsh voice whisper-asks in the dim lighting. _She’s a light sleeper from her years as a soldier._

“Shhh, yes it’s me,” he responds, moving closer to talk with her. “Cara, I need you to cover for me if she wakes up. I have an important meeting - but I can’t tell you much more than that right now.” He’s hopeful that the note truly is what he thinks it is. 

“Ok,” Cara agrees, not prodding further, but wondering exactly what Din is up to. However, she trusts her friend’s judgment. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, grateful for her discretion.

The ship’s ramp hisses open and Din tenses, hoping it doesn’t wake me. The bedroom door remains shut and he makes his way into the cool moonlight, Beskar gleaming in contrast with the dark, velveteen mountain terrain.

The ramp hisses shut behind as he produces the note that had been tucked into his belt and quickly unfolds it. The moonlight is so bright, he doesn’t even need the light attachment on his helm to illuminate the message. It’s a map to coordinates on the mountain, which isn’t too far from here, maybe half a kilometer to the southeast, through the forest that bordered the open landing area.

He uses the tech in his helm to help navigate the geography along the way. He ducks under some low-hanging branches and shuffles through some brush, which sends some small furry critters scurrying away. A path appears - well, at least what used to be a path. He follows the old, partially-crumbling rocky stone trail for a ways. It eventually leads through a narrow passage between two large peaks — then it ends abruptly, cut off by some large boulders, essentially forming a wall. He continues per the directions, climbing over the few meters of stone, using his whipcord thrower to ease his ascent.

As he crests the top of the obstacle, his visor detects heat signatures ahead. There are at least a dozen living bodies in a settlement of some kind.

“We’ve been expecting you,” a familiar deep female voice suddenly reverberates from above, firmly gripped against the edge of the mountain. Reflexively, he has his blaster aimed in an instant at the figure.

His visor settings adjust - _it is a Mandalorian. And she has the same voice as the cloaked woman from the market, the one who had given him the note. He hadn’t been able to tell her allegiance with the fabric concealing her armor upon their first meeting._ He lowers his weapon. 

“ _She_ wants to see you,” the fellow warrior shares as she jumps down gracefully and quietly like a mountain lion beside him.

Din nods as he holsters his blaster, allowing his acquaintance to lead the way. They pass through the small encampment after they make their way down from the boulders. At least a dozen other Mandalorians watch closely and cautiously as he approaches.

 _The woman who wants to see me - it must be_ ** _her_** , he thinks. 

His eyes then catch the unmistakable form straight ahead. His heart begins hammering like the tools she had used to make his Beskar armor.

“Hello, Din Djarin. I am pleased to see you again,” the Armorer speaks over the bonfire’s flames, which cast dancing light and shadows over her wonderfully familiar Beskar helm.

Din bows in reverence to his respected and wise leader. _The Matriarch._ He can barely contain his emotions, but works to steady his thoughts and voice. 

“How did you escape Nevarro?” He can’t help but ask the first thing on his mind.

“The Imperials are slow and most unworthy opponents,” she confidently replies, staring at the fire as she recalls the satisfying beating she had dealt to the stormtroopers the day she last saw Din. “Afterward, I had stayed on Nevarro for a while, repurposing the remnants of armor. Then, I had heard that your foundling’s kind was all but extinct.” Her almond-eyed visor looks him dead in his T-shaped visor.

_Greef had a big mouth…_

She stands up from the fire. “As strong as we Mandalorians are, our numbers are dwindling. I wanted to help ensure the Child had the necessary resources to master his special skills.” She approaches Din. “I remembered old tales of Jedis on Naboo and travelled here to track them. I sent the woman on Deridian X-9 to lead you here.” She looks him directly in the dark glass.

 _Greef really had a big mouth_ …Din could only assume that’s how she had known to find them on that remote gem-mining planet.

“In my quest for the Jedi, I located this group of Mandalorians who reside here in the Gallo Mountains. They have graciously assisted me in tracking down promising information on those with the gift,” she continues. “In fact, we have identified an individual who reportedly possesses such abilities who inhabits these very mountains,” she confidently reports. “Rallo has been tracking this so-called monk for weeks now. She believes she’s getting close,” the Armorer gestures to the female Mandalorian still standing behind Din.

Din’s chest swells at the potential news. 

Rallo briskly steps forward to face Din. “I will share with you the coordinates,” she nods. 

“Why are you helping me?” He studies her carefully, searching for ulterior motives. She snickers and steps a little closer.

“Because, we all wear the same Beskar - we are all Mandalorians,” Rallo rasps and then removes her helmet, revealing short, raven hair and dark skin. It completely shocks Din seeing her so blatantly bare her identity. “Even if we don’t share the same rigid beliefs as you and your friend,” she finishes with a sly smile.

Din trusts the Armorer’s judgment and therefore trusts this group. He nods at the new ally as she turns to join her fellow Mando’ade.

“I know you have questions,” the Armorer opens the conversation to him. 

_Where to begin?_ He has numerous questions rapidly percolating in his mind and all of them important. He collects his thoughts.

“The foundling, when he comes of age - is he allowed to swear the Creed?” Din asks, almost breathless.

“It is his decision, but yes, when he comes of age he can swear the Creed. Remember he is a foundling and your son, whether or not he swears the Creed,” she nods.

“Is he allowed to see my face?” his voice falters at the inquiry. _Din had grown up with a different Mandalorian group in a different time, and rules surrounding the Creed had become even stricter since the Great Purge. Growing up, he had never removed his helm around others except for his adoptive parent, but he’s not certain if this is still permitted. He doesn’t exactly know why he doesn’t know the answer to this question, but then again, he never thought_ ** _he_** _would have a foundling under his care. And he obviously never witnessed the behind-closed-doors interactions between children in the Tribe and their Mando’ade parents._

“Yes, you can reveal your face to foundlings, biological children, blood relatives, spouses and other very close family. But no others. This is The Way,” she rhythmically recites.

“This is The Way,” Din breathlessly repeats, head bowed and fist over his kar’ta, which was still vigorously skipping from a word the Armorer had just mentioned: _Spouses_. 

_Does this mean if he marries Halarys, he can remove that final barrier as well?_

“I met someone who I…,” Din starts his thought, but then looks at the ground, not sure if he should be ashamed of admitting such personal matters to his respected leader.

“I know - the Doctor. Is she The One?” The Armorer could always read Din’s thoughts a mile away.

 _Life isn’t going to wait or slow down. I know she is The One, the true holder of my kar’ta, the lovely, caring mother to my son,_ he thinks to himself.

“Yes, she is The One,” he speaks with clear, unwavering certainty.

“So you would like to marry this doctor?” she _almost_ smiles under her helm.

“Yes,” Din grins widely, his ribs throb at the thought.

“Then so it must be,” she nods. “This is The Way.” 

“This is The Way,” Din proudly repeats, fist over kar’ta as his chest flutters with both relief and exhilaration at her blessing.

“Please, tell me more of this skilled healer,” she motions him to come sit next to her by the fire. 

He spends hours describing me, our harrowing adventures, and how I had saved and healed him countless times. The Armorer is thoroughly impressed and actually quite happy for Din. The two Mandalorians chat for a long while, almost until dawn.

\-------------------------

“Thank you,” Din nods at his leader and then at the other Mandalorians who remove their helmets as a gesture of trust and friendship. He leaves the reunion feeling incredibly excited. 

\------------------------- 

Din makes it back to the ship, just as the sun starts rising on the mountain. The pneumatic door opens. Cara and Pershing greet him.

“She’s still asleep,” Cara smiles. “How was the meeting?”

“What meeting?” Greef asks sleepily as he crawls down from the cockpit.

He chats with Cara, Greef, and Pershing about the plans for the day.

\------------------------- 

I wake up and shift in bed. _There’s no warm heartbeat next to me._

_Din’s gone._

I jump up and open the door.

“Din?!” I ask, my voice still hoarse from sleep, as I step out of the small room. Panic nips my gut. _He never leaves me alone._

“Morning cyar’ika,” Din walks over and holds me.

“I was worried,” I admit, gazing up at his helm with bleary eyes. I suddenly feel grounded in his secure embrace.

“Worried about what?” he cocks his head and caresses my cheek with his leather glove.

“That someone took you,” I look into his glass, sharing my fears. I lean my face into the hand on my cheek and close my eyes, savoring his presence.

“My recent track record might not be great, but I won’t let that happen again, mesh’la,” he purrs into my ear as he rests his hand upon the trusty blaster on his hip.

“A-hem,” Greef clears his throat. 

“Good morning, Greef,” I smile at the Bounty Guild leader. Cara and Pershing stand next to him smiling at Din and I. “Good morning Cara and Pershy,” I grin. They all nod at me and smile - almost in unison. 

_They’re being sufficiently weird_ , I think to myself. The babe sits in his open pod, playing contentedly with his growing menagerie of toys.

“Should we split up again like yesterday?” Greef asks, almost sounding scripted.

“Yes, but I’m going to have you watch the kid, while Halarys and I search the nearby mountains for any signs of the monk,” he breaks the news to me.

“Din - are you sure that’s a good idea?” _I don’t like the idea of leaving the naughty Force-wielding babe alone with the group. To be honest, I’m not scared of anything happening to the babe, rather him happening to others._

“Pershing will be with; he seems to have survived the kid’s wrath just fine,” Din shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.

Pershy gives a half-scowl at Din. _He wouldn’t describe being choked by the Child as “just fine”._

“Yes, we got the little monster today. It will be less to worry about when navigating the steep mountainside,” Cara reassures and smiles a larger-than-usual smile for her. 

“Din - I don’t know,” I look suspiciously at Cara and then at Din.

“It will be safer for the Child,” Pershy chimes in. The child coos as if in agreement. 

_Why is everyone so supportive of this idea? They seem really willing to be babysitters today…Well, I guess they know what they’re getting themselves into._

“Ok, fine. But I don’t want to be gone too long - a few hours at most. If we don’t find anything by then, we cut our losses and come back.” My aquamarine gaze pierces Din as I set the ground rules.

“Sounds good, Hal’ika,” he tries to monotone.

I go to grab my medic bag and begin to attach my Beskar armor.

“And don’t forget to get him a breakfast - something with protein,” I tell the group, making sure they listen.

“Yes, I will make certain he eats a balanced breakfast,” Pershy smiles at me as he walks past and down the ramp. 

“See you two later,” Greef smiles and waves as the pod travels with them. _Din must’ve given them the controls, which is probably a good idea to have a containment cradle for him in case he misbehaves._

I finish attaching my armor and Din just stares at me. I shake my backside at him, earning a chuckle. Attaching the final piece on my thigh, I turn and meet Din with a smirk on my face. 

_Just me and him today?_ I’d try my best to stay _on_ task and _off_ of him. I notice a new metal attachment to his back - if I’m not mistaken, it looks like a jetpack of some sort. That will be useful if either of us fell over a cliff.

“I was thinking we could start over near the waterfall. There’s a path we can pick up that leads into the thicker forest,” Din shares as we make our way down the ramp. 

“Well, monks always hide in forests, so that sounds like a good plan,” I playfully poke his side. I notice the group is already halfway across the stone bridge. Greef peeks back at us and Cara punches his shoulder earning an “ow” that I can almost hear from here. 

_Weird_ , I think.

He offers me a blaster as we start over the bridge. “Just in case we need it,” he explains. I smile and holster it. I grab his hand in mine and enjoy the views of the beautiful fresh day. The cascading falls roar as we cross the ancient bridge into the city.

We make our way through the city center and past the Gungan, who ducks to hide under his stand as he notices Din and I. I laugh and shake my head. _Din had left a good impression._

We head up some old winding stone stairs that lead up to the direction of the waterfall. Other visitors make their way to see the views. There are dozens of stairs and we’re both breathing heavily as we finally reach the top. 

“I need to work out more often,” I say through breaths at Din, my legs fatigued and jelly-like from the effort. _I still don’t know how he oxygenates through that helmet of his._

The views are even more breathtaking than the stairs and they instantly grab my attention. A dozen meters ahead, a stone-arch bridge leads over one of the fall’s many cascades that originate somewhere much farther up the mountain’s peak, which looms another hundred or so feet above us. We walk past a handful of other visitors (it seems it’s still too early in the day for a larger crowd) and make our way over to the bridge. 

Din stops with me in the middle of the stone arch and we watch the mesmerizing white waters rush over the rocks, careening down hundreds of feet toward a great pool below. He holds me close and we enjoy for a few minutes the simple time together.

I eventually turn to him, getting my fill of the serene water. “Alright, enough gawking,” I try to speak over the powerful roar. _He’s being so nice and patient, allowing me to enjoy the views_. _And I think he enjoys it too._

He nods and we continue over the bridge and to the stone pathway that leads through a narrow pass in the rock. As we make our way through, the fall’s thundering white noise grows quieter. The views here are equally stunning as we breach the other side. Sun shines brightly on the open mossy area with one edge leading to a steep drop-off from what I can tell, and small, puffy white clouds float lazily in the mountain breeze against the light blue sky. The path leads into a thick forest a few dozen meters ahead. No other visitors are in sight.

“Can I look?” I ask him, gesturing to the open drop-off.

“Be careful,” he lovingly warns, following behind.

I walk a couple meters shy from the edge, too nervous of heights to step any closer. This vantage point of Naboo is amazing. My soul drinks in the gorgeous natural beauty of the yawning valley below, adorned with aqua blue meandering rivers connecting twinkling deep sapphire lakes. The rich emerald of the surrounding fauna is more captivating than any jewel.

Din takes in the look of joy and child-like awe spread clear across my face. It makes him so breathlessly happy. 

_This is it_ , he thinks.

Din moves and stands before me on the breathtaking cliffside. He loosens his cuirass, and sets it to the ground. He takes my hand and guides it over his heart, which is beating more rapidly than I’ve _ever_ felt, and it has me worried. I study my hand over his chest, ready to pull out my scanner to examine him in case he was having some kind of dangerous cardiac arrhythmia. Then his other hand carefully guides my face and my eyes meet his handsome dark glass. My worry floats away like the fluffy clouds, replaced by wonder and curiosity in what he’s doing.

“Cyar’ika, I’ve loved you from the moment you fell on top of me in that explosion on Fara.” His recollection of our first encounter earns a laugh from me. I start shaking in ethereal surrealness as I begin to realize what he’s doing. I can barely breathe.

He continues, his handsome dark glass looking me right in the eyes: “Together, we’ve travelled vast distances across the galaxy - meeting old friends and new, shooting Imps, dodging beasts, saving each other’s lives - you definitely have me beat on that last one,” he laughs. I nod and laugh with happy tears welling in my eyes.

“And even when separated, we always find our way back to each other - no matter how much the odds are stacked against us. My foundling loves you. _I love you._ You truly hold my kar’ta in your beautiful, caring, skilled hands,” his voice falters and he presses my hand more tightly against his heart. I can feel his love resonate with its every quickened beat as my eyes peer deeply into his dark glass, reaching his eyes beneath.

“Doctor Halarys Anavalin Ristania, will you do me the greatest honor of joining me in marriage?” His chest thrums even faster beneath my hand as he anticipates my response. Tears brim in my eyes as I look into his visor.

“Din Djarin, my honorable, handsome Mandalorian…what took you so kriffing long? Yes!” I can barely contain my excitement and nearly jump on top of him.

He pulls me into his arms, holding me so close, closer than he’s ever held me. He’s shaking too. 

The rest of the world falls away. _We are the only two souls in existence in this moment._

I soak in the breathtaking view in my fiance’s arms and suddenly remember my fear of heights.

“Woah, don’t get so close to the edge,” I pull us farther away from the drop.

“I’m wearing my Rising Phoenix,” he matter-of-factly replies.

“What the hells is th-,” I start, but my question is answered as suddenly we rise from the ground. I hold onto his torso for dear-life as I watch the ground grow farther away. 

It _is_ a jetpack!

He looks down at me as my look of shock fades into a wide, joyous smile. We rush over nearby peaks and then down over treetops. _Even though I’m not a fan of heights, in his embrace is the safest I’ve ever felt…and flying is damn exhilarating._

He flies us to the highest peak, fresh brisk wind rushing over us and the cool mountain sun reflecting off him, making him the brightest I’ve ever seen. At this incredible vantage point, the magnificent mossy mountain range stands in its full glory. There are smaller waterfalls visible and pools of glimmering water decorating the various points and nooks. 

Our souls soar higher and higher as we embrace each other midair in the serene mountain sky. I look into his dark glass, loving the man underneath all that Beskar. He lowers us down to one of the many waterfalls and we rush past the cool water - I can feel the mist on my cheek, a congratulatory kiss from the mountain herself. A small group of long-necked, bipedal ruminants munching on underbrush sees us and gallops away gracefully through the mountain terrain. He quickly lifts upward again, making my stomach tickle and I giggle from both the sensation and the pure glee of our engagement. We sail over the lush, emerald treetops where colorful little birds follow playfully, curious about our novel forms. I can see their faint reflections in Din’s armor, making me smile - _we are the oddest birds they’ve likely ever seen, but I also bet the most in-love_. They lose interest and dip back under the canopy as we make our way back to the open area.

Din brings us back to the proposal spot and lowers us slowly and gently to the ground. My feet are again setting on firm ground, but my heart is still soaring.

“Wow,” is all my lips can muster from the wonderfully overwhelming experience.

“Would you want to get married now?” he tentatively broaches the idea, looking down at me with chest still heaving.

I’m gleefully shocked at his words. 

“How can I say ‘no’ after _that_ experience?” I chuckle. “But seriously, yes! Yes! Let’s get married right here, right now!” I honestly can’t wait another moment. I ~~want~~ need to be his wife.

“Are you sure, cyar’ika?” He wants me to have the wedding I’ve always dreamed of - he knows non-Mandalorians typically have large, extravagant weddings. He suddenly feels slightly rude for even asking.

“I’m not into the whole big wedding thing. Small and intimate is more my style. And if I’m marrying you, it will automatically be perfect!” I smile.

“You _are_ a Mandalorian at heart, cyar’ika,” Din boasts as I caress the curve of his helm.

“What is a Mandalorian marriage like?” I study his visor.

“Small, intimate, short and sweet,” he replies, his voice heavy with affection. 

“I definitely want a Mandalorian wedding,” I profess, not knowing anything about it other than his short description. He hugs me tight with joy.

“Are you sure, Hal’ika?” he double checks, not sure if he heard me properly the first time.

“Yes!! Din, I’ve _never_ been so sure of anything in my entire life,” I affirm, pressing my hand over his galloping heart and staring into his handsome dark glass.

He politely nods, feeling in a dream-like state as he collects his thoughts.

“Repeat after me: Mhi solus tome,” his charming, husky tone speaks the first line.

“Mee soh-lus tomeh,” I try my best to mimic his enunciation.

“Mhi solus dar’tome,” he continues.

“Mee soh-lus dar-toh-meh,” I repeat.

“Mhi me’dinui an,” his voice is clear and strong.

“Mee meh-dee-new-ee ahn,” I imitate.

“Mhi ba’juri verde bal baar’ure,” he finishes, his voice faltering slighty with emotion.

“Mee bah-jer-ee ver-deh ball bahr-yur-eh,” I say, certain my rendition is riddled with improper pronunciation. Even though I don’t understand the words, I understand that together, they carry great meaning.

Din smiles with joyous tears under his helm as he gazes into my eyes, the eyes of his _riduur_. He hugs me close, making me feel more loved than I had ever known was possible as I melt into his trembling embrace with warm tears welling in my eyes as well.

“What does it mean?” I murmur against his undershirt.

“That now you can have your way with me,” he jokes. I pat his Beskar-less chest and laugh with a blush on my face. 

“It means: We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors and healers…I tweaked the last line to include your profession,” he shares. The words and personalization makes me emotional and he bends his head to rest his helm’s forehead against mine.

“I love you, Din Djarin,” I sniffle, completely in-love.

“I love you, Doctor Halarys Anavalin Ristania. I’m so glad I took that bounty on you,” he chuckles. I laugh at his great dad-joke.

We stand and hold each other for many minutes, just enjoying one another’s embrace and closeness, allowing our souls to intertwine. My energy pulses - it’s the Force, and from Din’s reaction, he can feel it too. It’s a benevolent, loving and healing energy. He can feel a warm, tingling senstation enveloping his heart and it makes him feel stronger than ever before. And I feel so safe and invincible with him.

“I have some family I’d like you to meet,” Din breaks the silence with the huge revelation. 

“Family?” my face brightens in shock and excitement. “You have family - here?” I look around as if they’ll somehow materialize.

He warmly laughs and nods.

“Yes, right now! I want to meet them immediately!” I demand. 

He chuckles at my reaction and pulls me tight. 

“There might be a little celebration in store,” he warns, letting me go momentarily to reattach his cuirass. He grabs me again, holding me close against his Beskar. 

Smooth, warm Beskar gleams beneath my cheek as we lift off and soar over the mountains. His dark glass peers into my eyes and I forget everything around me. 

_He’s my husband._

And Din’s heart can barely take it. _This fierce, resilient, beautiful soul was now his wife,_ he thinks looking down at me. _His riduur._

We glide back down over the village rooftops and over to a beautiful garden terrace - decorated with festive flowers and tables full of delicious-looking food. A group is waiting for us. I immediately notice other Mandalorians. Din gracefully lowers us and the group cheers as our feet touch the ground. Greef, Cara, Dr. Pershing, the babe, and a few Mandalorians draw in around us, clapping and congratulating.

Greef cues a local traditional band of string instruments and Din pulls me close.

“Congratulations, Din,” a strong woman’s voice sounds from behind.

“Armorer, I’d like you to meet my wife, Halarys,” he stands straight and nods at the mother-figure.

“So this is The One.” The female Mandalorian studies me. “The one that stole your kar’ta from underneath all that Beskar armor I had forged,” she says, her voice is almost sarcastic as she circles around me, eyeing my Mandalorian armor. She stops and looks straight at me. I’m not sure if she’s going to punch or hug me.

“It is an honor to meet such a formidable woman,” she bows deeply, her voice now definitively sincere. 

“It is an honor to meet Din’s family,” I bow back.

“I have a gift for you,” she announces and gestures to the large Mandalorian holding something covered with a cloth. She pulls away the fabric, revealing a beautifully intricate almond-eyed Beskar helmet, embossed with designs that match the filigree ones on my body armor. A metal mudhorn skull rests beside it - the same as on Din’s right shoulder. My mind races.

“I can’t - this is too kind,” I shake my head, not feeling worthy of the very generous gifts and the incredible meaning behind them.

“This is The Way,” she speaks with finality. She turns me and produces a tool from her belt. “You are now the Mudhorn Clan of Three!” she announces with grandiosity as sparks sputter from my shoulder armor. And like that, the signet is attached.

Din with the child in his arm, grabs my hand and raises our arms up. The small group cheers. I look over to him and the babe, with love in my eyes, thoroughly humbled at what had just happened. My soul is rushing excitedly and free like the waterfall.

“Vizla, thank you,” Din nods at the giant Mandalorian who hands me the helmet.

He nods at Din and then leans in toward me. “Din likes it rough, if you know what I mean,” his low voice rumbles and he gives Din a less-than-gentle shove on the shoulder, and laughs as he stalks away.

Din shakes his head in frustrated embarrassment. I giggle. _Family can be so awkward…_

Suddenly, I wish my mother could be here. But I quickly forget the bitter thought as my husband grabs my hand. _My husband, Din Djarin._

_\-------------------------  
_

I enjoy the bountiful smorgasbord of food - Mandalorian chili is the main dish. I chat with some of the un-helmed Mandalorians. Some of what they say makes me blush - and I’m sure it makes Din as well.

Having greeted most of the guests, Din and I go over and to say hi to our little son.

“Hey there green bean. I guess I’m now officially your mother,” I say softly as I stroke his ear, earning a sweet coo and bright eyes. _I have already felt like his mother for a good while now, but now it’s official._ I smile warmly at my child - _our_ Foundling to raise as both a warrior and a healer, if he so chooses. 

“I got you two the best hotel room in Dee’ja Peak,” Greef jovially shares with Din and me.

“We got the kid tonight,” Cara winks. I blush furiously.

Din can’t help that his blood rushes faster than the nearby cascades at the thought - the thought of _tonight._

I grab Din’s hand as the band starts playing an especially slow song. He pulls me close and actually attempts swaying slowly with me. I rest my head against his Beskar and take in the feeling of him in my arms and the strong sound of his loving heartbeat.

_I can’t believe how this day happened, but I’m beyond grateful for him and for everyone here._

“I love you,” I whisper underneath his helm, making his heart falter.

“I love you too, cyar’ika,” he hushes back. We hold each other and softly sway to the string instruments for the remainder of the song.

\------------------------- 

We enjoy some more food, laughter, and stories. _The Armorer is one bad-ass Mandalorian._

The sun begins to set and as it disappears over the mountain, the Mandalorian group shoos us away to our hotel room. They encourage me to put on the helm. 

I look at Din and he nods. I slide on the perfectly-fitting, ornate helmet _(the Armorer is good)_. The world comes into a different view, slightly darkened by the tinted visor, but vivid in other ways. _I wonder if this is how Din sees?_ The group loudly cheers at seeing me in full Mandalorian armor, making me smile and I tear up at the incredible honor of being accepted into the culture.

“I’ll have to show you all the gadgets,” Din whispers almost seductively in my ear, referring to the helmet, earning from me a hidden quirked brow.

Greef hands Din the hotel room key. “Mando, this is perhaps the most exciting fob I’ve handed you yet,” he teases and claps Din’s back. He nods at me and chuckles.

Cara holds the babe alongside Pershy and waves. We wave back and the babe mimics. I smile at the adorableness and feel a little guilty for leaving him.

“Do you think he’ll be ok?” I ask Din with my now modulated voice as we make our way back into the center of town. _Woah, my voice is modulated!_

“He will be just fine,” Din reassures and holds my hand tightly. The group is quite capable of taking care of him, as evidenced by today.

“You are so right,” I acknowledge, quickly distracted by my modulated voice. “I’m going to make sure you’re just fine too,” I try to sound seductive through the vocoder. _Now I just want to say a bunch of random words out loud to hear them warped by the filter._

Din turns his head and looks down at me. With that, he scoops me up and carries me the rest of the way, both of us chuckling, to the luxurious, carved-stone hotel. 

_Wow, Greef spent some serious credits on this gift_ , I think.

We cross into the spacious, sparkling lobby and earn some gawking stares from fellow guests and the front desk hosts.

Din doesn’t tire and we make our way over the elevator bay. He holds up the fob to the sensor and the door opens. We step into the Ritzy golden elevator car. 

I laugh in his arms. 

“Getting tired?” I notice his heavy breaths.

“Never, cyar’ika,” he sweetly replies.

I watch the numbers light up as we pass each floor. We keep ascending - all the way to the top floor.

The door dings and opens, revealing a private penthouse suite with stunning 360 degree views of the mountain range. Flower petals and warm, soft lighting fill the romantic room. Din carries me over the elevator’s threshold and sets me down to my feet.

We rest our helmet’s foreheads together. _A true Keldabe kiss,_ he thinks as his kar’ta flutters like a nightmoth near a bright light.

He reaches and gently removes my helmet, taking in all the unique beauty of my porcelain face, the small blue veins that run under the skin around my eyes, like intricate weaving. I take my hair down from the braid that it has been in for far too long. Din watches as the silver-white strands cascade down my shoulders to the small of my back, more breathtaking than any waterfall. My aquamarine gaze pierces through his dark glass.

_What happens next, I will always remember._

He sheds his jetpack and gloves, setting them to the floor. He takes my hands in his and guides them up to his Beskar helm. He nods giving me the permission to finally remove the one article of armor he’s never removed in front of another.

“Din -,” I begin, still very unsure if he’s going against the Creed.

“You are my wife - this is The Way,” he hushes sincerely. He slips his hands from mine to allow me to remove the handsome Beskar helm on my own. My hands now absolutely tremble without his over mine.

“It’s ok, cyar’ika,” he encourages, and leans down a little closer.

I nod, with joyful tears in my eyes.

His heart wildly gallops beneath his cuirass, as I lift the helmet ever-so-slowly to savor the moment, studying each centimeter of his handsome face as it’s revealed.

His chin is covered in a short, dark brown beard - patchy in some areas, adding to its rugged charm.

His lips are full… _and quivering_.

 _Oh Din_ , I stop advancing the helm as tears continue to brim in my eyes. _This is an incredible moment for him - I can’t imagine what he must be feeling. But I know I feel immeasurably honored he trusts me so._

I steady myself and continue raising the helm. His mustache is full and leads to a distinct nose, subtly scarred on its slightly curved bridge.

The helmet moves just a little further and my eyes _finally_ meet his, unobstructed by the visor. _Finally!_ The cocoa brown irises are more handsome and kind than I ever could have imagined. I remove the helm the remainder of the way, revealing his thick, tousled dark hair, and he ducks a little as I stand on my tippy toes, making us both nervously chuckle. He takes the now free helmet in his hands.

I’m absolutely breathless seeing his handsome face for the first time. I run my hand over his scruffy cheek, which only dons a couple faint scars. 

“Regret saying the vows?” I hear his husky voice without the modulator and watch his soft lips form a smile that I had only imagined until now. His kind, deep brown eyes search my face for an answer.

“I regret not saying them sooner,” I stand on my tippy toes and bring my lips to his, feeling his short beard pleasantly scratch my face.

“I love you, Din Djarin,” I gaze up into those handsome eyes - eyes I don’t think I’ll ever grow tired of seeing.

“I love you, Halarys Ristania,” he lovingly stares back as he holds me in his arms.


	21. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XXI: A Bond Stronger than Beskar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Halarys thoroughly enjoy their wedding night as husband and wife.

The helmet is off. 

.

.

.

 _His_ helmet is off. 

.

.

.

I almost can’t register what is happening. 

_Is this a dream? A wonderful, very realistic, never-want-to-wake-up kind of dream?_

_._

_._

_._

He stands stoically before me, I reach to touch him. 

_He’s really there._

This is indeed reality. 

_My reality._

Din Djarin is now _my husband_. And with that comes extensive and unique privileges…

I study his face in the warm glow of the luxurious room. My heart is absolutely racing from the once-forbidden sight. 

The man beneath the Beskar is effortlessly handsome - more than I could have ever imagined. His face appropriately matches the age I had approximated from the health of his internal organs during my exams (mid- to late-30s). Surprisingly, he has only a couple of subtle scars on his face (well, at least from what I can see in this lighting) - a couple on the periphery of his left cheekbone and another over the bridge of his distinct nose, but his lightly olive skin otherwise appears healthy. My eyes dance between his soft, chocolate brown irises (which are equal and quite widely dilated), then over his handsomely scruffy facial hair that surrounds his full, (very kissable) muted pink lips, and finally up to his mussy, thick, and dark brown hair, slightly sweaty from his helmet, which is long enough to nearly fall to his dark eyebrows.

His face is as kind as his heart and soul - a heart and soul that I had connected with from day one. I had loved him even without seeing his face, but the intimacy of him allowing me to see him - _all of him_ \- is almost too much. My soul is soaring and my body is trembling. I feel breathless, caught in this surreal moment of raw discovery and the incredible bond we share, now made even that much stronger with the final barrier gone.

My hand gingerly reaches to caress his cheek, just to make sure he remains real. He turns, with eyes closed, and tenderly presses his lips into my palm. His long stubble prickles against the sensitive skin, sending delightful shivers down my spine and to intimate areas that sincerely long for him.

I reach and run my fingers through his soft mane - he about falls over from the blissful sensation running over the most sensitive, touch-starved nerves. I giggle as we both lose balance and he catches me in his arms, holding me close. Our eyes lock, peering into each other’s souls. We stand silent, soaking up the intimacy of the intoxicating, ethereal moment, our bodies and souls saying what our quivering lips fail to muster.

He marvels at the unobscured view of my eyes - the blue-green coloration is even more vibrant without the visor’s tinted filter. He swears he can feel my vivid aquamarine gaze sweep over every centimeter of his soul, leaving behind a velvet shroud of healing love. His chest is heaving from the incredible experience - the thumping in his ribcage is growing faster and he knows I can feel it through his Beskar, as my hands are splayed directly over his kar’ta. The effect I have on his heart is something he wouldn’t trade the galaxy for. _Ever._

I slide my hands over the warm metal and reach to its edges, slowly loosening the well-crafted cuirass. This is something I’ve done many times before, but now my hands shake and my knees grow weak. He exhales a delighted, yet nervous breath, watching my small hands tend to their task. I continue taking off each article of his armor, working slow and deliberate, enjoying the stepwise process of revealing my _husband._ I smile when my fingers graze over the mudhorn signet on his right shoulder, and how I now have one to match. He remains still, allowing me to continue removing each physical barrier. I enjoy the affectionate symbolism of him allowing me to remove the Beskar - a sign of deep trust. I thoroughly savor the faith he places in me.

I detach the final piece of Beskar and set it neatly in the collection. He now stands tall before me, only in his dark undercloth, belt, and boots - his handsome face flushes a soft tint of rose and wears the unmistakable drunken look of love.

I stand still as he moves toward me, his trembling hands brush against the edges of my breast plate, and he slowly removes the Beskar. The strap of my medic bag makes it a little clumsy, earning nervous chuckles from both of our lungs, and I help shift it off. He intakes a quick breath as my soft breasts are revealed (again, the undercloth doesn’t leave much to the imagination). He continues, working meticulously, to loosen each piece of metal armor upon my frame. He makes a neat grouping of my Beskar pieces setting proudly next to his. 

He stands back, admiring my form in the tight undersuit. 

_Gods she is beautiful_ , he thinks as his heart uncontrollably falters and flutters. An utterly enamored look sits heavy upon his hotly blushed face.

I watch his larynx jump from swallowing hard as I step toward him and slowly lift his undershirt to reveal his strong, scar-littered center. He assists me and effortlessly shifts off the garment, now that no helmet stands in its way. I run my fingertips delicately over his bare abdomen and up over his racing heart that’s nearing a concerning rate, but he seems to be doing _more_ than fine I assess. I look up into his kind, lovestruck, doe eyes - _I’m quite certain mine don’t look much different_. 

His breath hitches as I tenderly trace my fingers down over his coursing muscles and to the lip of his pants. I linger a moment, my breath subtly panting over his fevered bare chest as look up into his loving eyes, asking for his permission. 

“Cyar’ika,” he exhales, lightly cupping my cheek in his strong hand as he slowly nods his consent. _She’s so beautiful_ , he thinks.

My hands delicately proceed, unbuckling the belt that holds his extra munitions and blaster, setting it to the ground with a “klopp”. I gently unloop the button and slowly slide the fabric over his muscular backside and fully-bloomed desire, its handsome length patiently waiting to meet its new companion. He steps out of his boots and trousers and stands before me, completely bared - both literally and figuratively. I soak up the breathtaking sight of his handsome, strong, very physically fit ( _and extremely aroused_ ) form.

 _I’m most certainly out of my depths,_ I think as my lungs almost forget how to oxygenate.

I pull my hair out of the way in an invitation to allow for him to disrobe me. His hands quake from the shock of what’s happening and he has to take a deep breath to calm his nerves. _Sure he’s seen me naked once before, but not like this. No, this isn’t even in the same parsec. I’m now_ hiswife _\- his riduur._

I grin at his overwhelmed expression and assist his shaky hands and slip the cloth over my shoulders. _I’ll be lying if I don’t say I’m still shaking a bit too…_

My breasts harden from his proximity and the sheer intimacy of undressing one another. I take over the next part of getting it over my hips.

Din has to remind himself to breathe as I work to shimmy off the jumpsuit from my plump bottom. I laugh during my not-so-graceful struggle. 

“I guess I indulged a bit too much today,” I chuckle, as the fabric finally sheds loose. I remove my boots along with the cloth.

“Mesh’la,” he mutters the Mando’a word for beautiful under his breath. 

I can’t help but smile and giggle at his dopey, wide-eyed face as he takes in my now very naked form. He almost looks like he’s going to pass out.

_Woah, is he?_

“Din are you ok?” I watch as he just tries to catch his breath.

He smirks. _An actual smirk!_ I just about melt.

“I think I need a doctor,” he coyly replies and then quickly closes the distance with a now domineering stance, a move no doubt out of his bounty hunter playbook. 

_Yep, he’s just fine._

“Oh yeah?” I seductively quirk an eyebrow and gently take his wrist to check his pulse, which is strong and very rapid ( _no surprise_ ). I look into his eyes and playfully tsk - he pulls me closer.

“My kar’ta has been stolen,” he admits, voice husky and warm, “by the beautiful woman before me,” he leans excruciatingly close, peering longingly into my eyes as his fevered breaths glance over my face, which makes the pleasurable pressure build even tighter in my lower abdomen.

“Well, in that case, I prescribe strict bed rest,” I say in my physician voice, smiling a not-so-professional smile as I sensually glide my fingertips over his hammering sternum. 

He quickly scoops me up, earning shrill, exhilarated giggles from my lips, and carries me over to the bed. He lays me down gently on my back against the silken bedding, moving himself to straddle me. Heat radiates from his pulsing body as hovers above, his face mere centimeters from mine - I lift to press my lips against his. His tense muscles melt into the wonderful sensation and I lift and turn, guiding him to lay down on his back, still maintaining our kiss. I revel in the full softness of his captivatingly handsome lips, lips I’ve longed to kiss for what felt like an eternity. Lips I never wanted to stop kissing. The taste of this once forbidden fruit was absolutely dizzying in the most enjoyable way. 

I lift away and take the sight of him in, laying completely exposed before me. The way the veins in his arms and neck run down like small, rushing rivers and his handsomely kind, yet rugged face. My eyes sweep down to the now-healed injury on his side and I run my hands over the fresh scar ( _bacta doesn’t guarantee scarless healing_ ).

“Cyar’ika,” he hushes, muscles rippling over his ribs as he works to obtain oxygen. I stare, simply admiring the expansion and contraction of his chest, reveling in how incredibly ~~sexy~~ alive he is. He notices me studying his labored breathing. “I blame the higher altitude, but mostly you being naked.” The line earns a snort from me. 

I lean in and press my lips to his and shift to straddle him - my warm, pulsing center now splayed over his hot, lower abdomen. My backside torturously grazes his throbbing length, earning a hitched breath from his lungs. Feeling the pressure and warmth of me on top of him and the anticipation of what’s next has his kar’ta on the verge of rupture - he’s sure of it. My own breath is starting to grow heavy.

He lays still, almost stunned, just drinking in the nourishing and heavenly vision of his cyar’ika, _his riduur._

I bend, placing a tender kiss over his thrumming, lovesick heart - _mine was just as fevered_. I then trail softly sweeping kisses up his strong sternum, that has _both_ of my lips watering. 

“Hal’ika,” he huskily mutters through an uneven breath. _She is definitively adept at such blissful torture_ , he thinks, feeling his heart hiccup and his skin turn to gooseflesh beneath my luscious, teasing lips. He’s never felt so much pleasure before and doesn’t want the high to ever end.

I sweetly kiss along his clavicles, enjoying the change in respiratory rate it earns. I work my way up his handsomely long, pulsating neck, planting the most delicate of kisses along his pulse points. He almost cannot bare the sensation.

“Mesh’la,” he nearly whimpers, pleading for more.

I travel my kisses up his bearded chin and back to his irresistibly seductive lips. The passion of the moment crescendos to an unbearable desire to have him - to finally take him _within_ me. I _need_ him. I **love** him.

He catches his breath as I reluctantly remove my lips from his.

Our eyes lock again, both drowning in our undeniable, longing for one another. His face is so drunken with burgeoning love, it fills my heart to the absolute brim, threatening to overflow my veins.

Our eyes never break their passionate gaze. 

“May I?” I ask his permission to take him.

He meekly nods in his befuddled state, earning a sly grin from my lips. 

_He’s too adorable._

I slowly move my hips and position myself to take him in. I feel his warmth radiating at my fully bloomed flower and gradually and carefully lower myself over his aching desire, sinking to take him in completely. He looks deeply into my eyes, and his own widen with intense pleasure as his lungs shudder from the tight, slick warmth over him. It’s almost more than his thundering warrior heart can bear. He can’t help but already teeter on the verge of release.

He fills every millimeter of me, edging on uncomfortable, but in a good way. He tenderly reaches a hand to my cheek, cradling it with such gentle emotion I could almost cry. 

“Cyar’ika…I love you,” he pants, struggling to maintain any sense of composure. _She has me raw, down to my very nerves and bones - I’m completely at her mercy_ , he thinks.

“I love you,” I whisper through glistening eyes, feeling the great meaning of these simple words thrum in my chest. I bend and place a sweet kiss over his rapidly drumming kar’ta. A little smile tugs at my lips, knowing I’m the reason for its reckless pace.

I peer back into his kind, twinkling eyes and start a rhythm with my hips that is slow and borderline torturous. He nearly goes cross-eyed from the intensely pleasurable sensation of my warmth enveloping and stretching over his. His heart and lungs work overtime to keep up with the sensual demand as he rides the edge of the wave, trying desperately to keep from crashing over it too soon. 

I move a top him, working slowly to spread our mixed arousal more evenly. His facial expressions are at times comical, mouth agape, and eyes completely, blissfully dazed. 

_Oh but is he ever handsome._

I can’t help it any longer and quicken the pace which has him muttering under his heavy breath what I can only assume to be Mando’a phrases. I giggle lightly, imagining they mean something quite explicit.

Din can’t hold still any longer and his hips buck uncontrollably into mine. He hits into such depths of me - depths that have _never_ been reached - which are at a couple times uncomfortable and borderline painful, but deeply erotic. He peers deeply and lovingly into my eyes as his impossibly tight coil releases, sending his warmth deep within me. Triggered by his release, my wave crashes shortly afterward, washing and rushing a tingling heat completely over me, from head to my toes. I feel like I’m glowing, brighter and warmer than any sun. ( _I’m not worried about inadvertent pregnancy as I have a contraceptive implant. Not that having his child would be a bad thing, but we have enough on our plate with green bean at this time.)_

“Cyar’ika,” he brings his trembling hand to my face, looking tenderly in my eyes as he catches his labored breath. I’m breathing just as heavily. I steal a kiss as I shift off and some of our mixed passions trickle down my thighs and onto him, which prompts him to look down.

“I think we need a shower,” he surmises with an almost proud smile.

I laugh and lay beside him, resting my ear on his sweaty, thumping chest. His breathing steadies as I aimlessly trace filigree designs on his silky, warm, damp skin, completely in awe of him.

“That was…incredible,” I breathlessly admit, still riding the afterwaves of the height of our passion.

“I’m glad I didn’t disappoint,” he shyly replies. His brain still cannot comprehend the divine closeness he had just experienced. He can still feel the lingering, static embrace of his release as it slowly dissipates.

My tracings on his skin migrate lower and lower. His arousal grows again as his heart rate picks up. It already has me ready for some more.

He slowly shifts and positions himself over me - he then brings my hand to his strongly beating heart and gazes right into my soul.

“You hold my kar’ta,” he murmurs, which sends flurries of soft nightmoths fluttering inside my stomach and into my chest. _I’d be 100% lying if I don’t admit I absolutely love this sweet gesture._

“And you hold my soul,” I lift up and kiss his quivering lips. The longing in my lower core blossoms again, this time generating a familiar static electricity that skitters over my skin, down my hands, and directly into his heart.

He feels the warm twinge penetrate his chest and he gasps.

I abruptly drop my hands from his chest, feeling foolish and reckless for getting so complacent.

“Did I hurt you?” I search his eyes for an answer, as my muscles tense, ready to grab my scanner. 

A warm smile then breaks on his face.

“Far from it, cyar’ika,” he brings my hand back to his bared, vulnerable chest and splays it again over his kar’ta. “It felt good…,” his eyes dart between mine, searching for the words, “warm…healing,” he tries his best to describe the wholly unique, yet familiar sensation as he softly rubs the back of my hand, pressed against his powerful heart.

_I still can’t control my powers and they seem to randomly express themselves - now is definitely NOT a good time. But I’m relieved this time it seems benevolent or at the least neutral. Well, at least it seems that way._

I feel his heart rate increase again as he studies me, and then he leans in for a long, hungry kiss. It doesn’t take long for my desire to bloom again, feeling his lips fervently pressing against mine and the heat radiating off him like desert sand in the midday sun.

“May I take you?” he politely asks, reluctantly withdrawing from our kiss.

“What would you do if I said no?” I playfully bite my lower lip.

“I’d be left with no choice but to take a very long, very cold shower,” he smiles, our lips remain agonizingly close, just barely touching. I feel his warm breath glancing over my face.

“Luckily for you, my answer is yes,” I gently bite his lip and lean back, my breasts fully displayed to him.

His heart stutters at the decadent sight. He’s almost paralyzed. I decide to encourage him, and take his hand in mine, resting it over the swell of my breast. It is just enough to fill his strong hand and he delights in the warm, soft nature of it - so incredibly opposite to Beskar. He slowly lowers his lips to taste the lovely plushness of my bosom and his beard prickles pleasantly over the sensitive skin, sending my flesh into goosebumps and my breasts to constrict tight in arousal. I know he must feel my heart, which is pounding nearly as fast as his. He places a kiss on my sternum that sends blissful shivers down my spine and strengthens the wave growing in my lower belly. My back reflexively arches as he trails delicate, deliberate kisses lower and lower, finally reaching my bared, beckoning blossom.

I feel his warm breath, glancing and teasing over my thirsty, pulsing bud. I look down and he almost mischievously grins as he hovers over my sensitive petals.

“Din,” I mutter needily, coaxing him to stop the torture.

“Hal’ika,” he huskily exhales, taking a few ( _excruciating_ ) moments to drink in the vision. He ( _finally_ ) slowly lowers his lips to taste the sweet nectar of my flower, pressing tender, hot kisses to the petals at first. He then must explore and suddenly dips between. I struggle to keep my legs still from the intense, almost overwhelming pleasure as he relentlessly delves, exploring my sensitive folds. He then works to delicately and mercilessly encircle my bud, not quite touching it. It sets me on edge and he feels my muscles flutter and contract in response to his skilled tongue.

“Fuck,” I spit out. _How does he know how to do this? He always has his helmet on…_

“Yes, I believe that’s what this is called,” he quips through heavy breath from his devious task. He works to now focus his tongue’s attention directly against the swollen bud of my desire, which has me gasping and squirming in ecstasy nearing another release. _He will never admit such an indecent thought, but he had always wondered what I had tasted like and it’s multitudes sweeter than he could have ever imagined._

He breaks from his “exploration” and brings himself back up and over me, centering his throbbing and blossomed desire right against mine. 

_I’m the one with the dopey face now…_

“Make love to me now,” I demand through a shaky breath. _Gods, he has me so close. I need him._

“Yes, doctor,” he quirks his brow and slowly enters me, being as gentle as he can. He studies my face, making sure he doesn’t hurt me as he starts slow. He savors the little pleasured sounds that escape my gorgeous lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles, looking into my eyes as he keeps a steady predictable rhythm. He really doesn’t want to hurt me - I’m so incredibly tight around him.

“You’re unbelievably handsome,” I study his features again, my mind still comprehending that I’m actually seeing his face. He continues the slow, sensual pace - but my desire craves, no _needs_ more. “Can you please go faster?” I plead - I know he must be holding back.

He swallows hard and smiles at my request. He picks up the pace, thrusting faster and faster. He has stamina to last for hours, but his attention-starved length hasn’t yet learned to pace itself. He relishes the way my beautiful breasts bounce with every thrust of his hips. He shakily mutters some more Mando’a words with his sultry, gravelly voice.

I can feel my wave come crashing hard as his pace grows dysrhythmic and choppy. The tightness of my warm, fluttering walls triggers his coil to release again, sending his seed deep within my flower.

Both of our mouths are slack with intoxicated pleasure and gasping for air. He laughs breathlessly and gazes into my eyes with such love, it feels like one could slice the air between us with a vibroblade. He bends down to kiss my swollen lips.

He lays beside me and welcomes me on his glistening and still-heaving chest.I revel in the simple, organic sounds of his smooth breath and heartbeat. _My husband’s breath and heartbeat._ My trained ear notices he no longer has that subtle, rasping midsystolic murmur, which puzzles me. _I suppose it could have been something transient…or perhaps…no, it couldn’t be…could it? Had I healed him inadvertently? Earlier during intimacy?_ I chuckle quietly to myself and push the ridiculous thought out of my mind as I bury my head deeper into his comforting (and toned) chest.

“Din, thank you,” I say sweetly and look up at his handsome face. _I still cannot get over the fact that I’m seeing his face!_

“I should be the one thanking you,” he sheepishly grins. _Oh how I love that kind smile!_ I get up and kiss him. The arousal from our passion trickles again down my thighs. _I’m thoroughly soaked._

“I think it is time for a shower,” I softly giggle, glancing down to my lap.

“Want company?” he huskily offers, quirking an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I lean and kiss his soft lips and grab his hand.

I lead him over to the immaculate, gorgeous bathroom. I almost don’t want to use it, it looks so perfect. 

“Much nicer than the Crest, huh?” he notices the look of envy on my face. I laugh.

“I’d be scared to have a bowel movement in here. It’s too pretty,” I chortle. He laughs heartily at my unabashed, semi-lewd comment. _I absolutely adore the way his face lights up when he laughs._

I walk into the elaborate mosaic shower room, almost feeling inadequate to stand in its presence. It’s equipped with at least six different showerheads (I have no clue which ones do what). I press the button and twist the knob to set the water to 41 degrees Celsius. Steam quickly builds and I feel Din’s beard bristling on my shoulder as he kisses me.

I turn and kiss his lips. _Ahhh, his lips!_ I’ll never grow tired of the feeling of them pressed against mine.

“Time for us to get clean?” I lightly trace a finger down his sternum.

His eyebrow raises mischievously and he leans to hush into my ear, “I was under the impression we were going to get a little dirtier first.”

_Din Djarin, you naughty, naked, kriffing sexy Mandalorian, you._

The warm water courses over us and I press myself against his handsome, strong body. He holds me close, not missing the way my bare breasts feel so good and natural held tight against him. The water accumulates between my bosom and his upper abdomen and I smile as he studies the banal occurrence. He’s easily amused, I think to myself, which is incredibly adorable.

“Bet you’ve never seen a boob pool before, huh?” I ask with a chuckle.

“Can’t say I have. I’m glad to have this first with you,” he laughs and kisses me. 

The water feels amazing and the warmth and his closeness only has me wound up tight again. I run my hands over his sturdy chest as he feels his own passion building to a fever-pitch yet again. I wrap my arms over his shoulders and jump to snake my legs around his handsome waist. He grabs hold of my plump backside with certain-grip as my lips crash ravenously against his. He shifts and shuffles to push my back against the cool, intricate tile wall, using it for additional leverage. His desire is again at full bloom and he lowers me down over his length, never loosening his hungry grip on my bottom. He absolutely loves my deliciously full derriere. 

His thrusts this time are quick and hard, pounding me against the unyielding surface. My nails dig into his shoulders as his rhythm grows excruciatingly, yet pleasurably fast and brings me cresting my wave’s edge yet again. _He already knows how to get me good._

A mewl falls from my slack lips as I ride atop and then fall beneath the crashing wave - a surge of warm pleasure tingles through me again. Din’s desire releases right after mine, his passion’s fruit again deep within me ( _damn, he can recharge fast…)._ He pants and looks me in the eyes.

“Hal’ika, I do believe I am the luckiest man in the galaxy to have ever existed,” he sincerely smiles and kisses my dewy forehead. I melt at his very sweet words, feeling that I was the luckiest woman to have ever lived.

“I’m the lucky one,” I smile and kiss his chest.

He carefully lowers me down as I unwrap my legs from his hips and my feet touch the ground. Although, I still feel like I’m soaring.

“I suppose it’s time to actually shower,” I giggle. 

“Only if it means we can get dirty again,” he chuckles and flicks some water from one of the numerous showerheads at me.

I fill my mouth with water and squirt it. _Right. In. His. Face._

 _Oh, that did it._ A look of complete deviousness breaks on his face and before I know it, he grabs me in his arms and holds me close, peppering me with unrelenting kisses.

I thoroughly enjoy my punishment. _I should misbehave more often…_

I look into his eyes and fall in-love all over again. He sets me down, muscles cording and water rippling over his soft, olive skin. He leans his forehead to mine and we stand there for a few moments. Din smiles to himself, feeling the Keldabe kiss for the second time without the helmet. _He now knows he prefers an actual kiss, which he bends and steals from my lips._ I feel myself melt into him at the kiss and hold him tight, enjoying the warm, flowing water. 

We eventually part to continue our shower and actually stay on task for a few minutes. I rinse my matted hair and shampoo the hells out of it, followed by the entire bottle of the iffy hotel-provided conditioner. _I honestly need at least 18 bottles to get through this beast._

Din watches in admiration as I preen (rather, struggle hardcore to untangle) my snowy, silver-white locks.

He takes in the wonderfully warm water rushing over his skin while indulging in how beautiful I am. 

I finally work out the knots and hold a small clump of knotted, fallen strands in my hand. _If I let it go, it will surely clog the drain so I hide the nasty hair-baby in the corner._ Din has no kriffing idea what I’m doing, but I am sure adorable doing it.

“Mesh’la,” he whispers under his breath and comes to join me. I whip around, hoping he doesn’t see the disturbing mini-creature my hair just birthed. _That’s what I get for not washing or brushing it since Deridian…_

“Hey husband,” I try to act coy. He leans and gives me a long, passionate kiss that makes me weak. _Damn he’s handsome and his skin so deliciously wet and clean._ I can’t help but trace my fingers over his chest, briefly interrupting the streams of water that cascade over the chiseled terrain. 

I then notice a familiar scar under his left clavicle, the one he had acquired during our first encounter. He watches as I reach and place a gentle, loving kiss on the first area of his skin I had ever touched. A small smile breaks on my face. _Oh how far we have both come since that pivotal day._

“I’ll never forget,” he lovingly gazes into my eyes and then glances down at the memory, forever displayed on his chest. “That was the day my life forever changed, because of you, Hal’ika…you helped me become a better person…and much, much happier,” he chuckles the last part and pulls me close into another sultry smooching session.

“And also much, much naughtier,” I quip, and playfully nip at his lips. He grabs my slick bottom tight in his hands, just to prove my point. _Yep, much naughtier_.

With his hands busy thoroughly enjoying the feel of my bareness, I grab the shampoo and squirt a sweet-scented dollop directly into his hair. He grins as I reach to his head, so happy there’s no longer the helm in the way. I begin to massage his scalp, lathering the fruited suds thoroughly in his locks, and he can’t help but melt into the sensational pleasure. 

_He’s gonna smell like a fresh bowl of juicy tropical berries_ , I giggle to myself. 

He feels like he’s in the farthest reaches of the heavens as his face rests against my soft, lovely bosom as I continue massaging his very touch-deprived head. He is so relaxed, he thinks he could almost fall asleep right now. I smile widely at his adorable, relaxed position as I run my fingertips through his thick hair. 

“Thank you Hal’ika,” he mumbles in my breasts, just before he lifts away and tries to stand upright, his face plastered with the derpiest look I do dare say I’ve ever seen. I giggle as I watch him rinse his hair under one of the shower streams.

“You’re welcome, husband,” I grin at him. _I love calling him that!_ I finish scrubbing myself and rinse the conditioner from my hair as my head floats blissfully in the clouds. Din finishes washing himself as well, savoring the feeling of his happy heart, so swollen with love.

He hands me the generic enzymatic oral cleaning solution as he swishes it himself. I can’t help but chuckle at how his cheeks puff in and out. He obviously had an oral hygiene routine as his teeth were very healthy. I rinse my mouth too ( _gods know I need it after all the decadent desserts I had eaten today_ ). 

Din watches as my cheeks vigorously swish and I spit the minty blue fluid down the shower drain. _Of course she’d look cute doing that_ , he thinks to himself and smiles. He was impossibly, hopelessly, and deeply in love.

I grin at his puppy-eyes, feeling refreshed.

Now that we’re both quite wrinkled from the water and finally clean, we both agree it seems time for sleep. I shut off the multiple warm streams of water, leaving only him and me amongst the lingering steam. He closes in with lovestruck eyes and scoops me into his strong arms again. I wrap mine behind his neck and kiss his drippy cheek, making him shyly blush as he walks us out of the shower ( _How can a simple kiss make him blush after what we had just done? I don’t know the answer to that question, but I do know he is the sweetest Mandalorian ever_ ). 

He snags a fluffy white towel from a nook just outside the shower room and sets me to my feet, wrapping the softness around me and giving me a most delicate kiss. I steal another quick taste of his sweetly soft lips as I grab the towel to start drying off. He claims his own towel and quickly rubs it over his head, leaving his hair endearingly mussed. He makes short work of drying the remainder of himself.

I’m still wringing my hair into the towel as he makes his way around me and begins kissing down my spine to the small of my back, chasing stray water droplets with his lips. 

I smile and giggle, feeling his bristly, gentle kisses, which also send pleasurable shivers racing down my spine. _If he keeps it up, we might need to return to bed immediately._

He suddenly feels breathless again, tasting my silken skin as it brushes against his wandering lips. _Around me, oxygen always seems in short supply, but a little lightheadedness is a minute price to pay to be in the midst of an angel._

Finishing his seductive line of kisses, he stands back to full height and watches as I dry my curves and creases. He can’t help but feel his arousal grow again at the sight of his beautiful and smart wife. He still doesn’t know how he’d managed to acquire my affections. _She must really like blood and Beskar_ , he surmises, chuckling to himself.

I turn, now satisfactorily dried, and he pulls me tightly into his arms. His warm, firm body pressed against mine draws my soul to the surface, reaching out to touch his. As content as a cottonseed lazily floating on a sunny summer breeze, I lay my ear over his chest and just listen to his heart’s sweet musings.

“I love you,” he whispers into my damp hair.

“I love you,” I murmur over his heart, placing a soft kiss. We stand in that embrace for a few minutes. 

“How about we continue this in bed?” I eventually suggest.

“Great idea,” he scoops me up sweetly, and I stare into his glimmering brown eyes. _Oh his eyes! Eyes I’ll never grow tired of peering into_.

He kisses me again and takes us over to the large, luxurious bed, setting me ever-so-gently on the soft sheets.

“I’m going to clean our armor and undergarments really quick,” he says in the most sultry voice yet. _It’s one of the sexiest things he’s said all evening._

“You’re amazing!” I proclaim and kiss his lips. “Thank you,” I smile as he goes to retrieve our Beskar and undercloth.

Din locates _an actual_ laundering machine in another room _(this room is equipped!)_.

I slip between and sink underneath the silky sheets, peacefully awaiting my husband’s return. _Gods, how thankful I am to have him in my life - both him and_ ** _our_** _son. I hope green bean isn’t giving uncles Greef and Pershing and auntie Cara too much trouble…_

“Now, where were we?” Din breaks my thought as he shuts off the lights. The serene views of the moonlit mountainscape come into full view as my eyes slowly adjust.

Din saunters over and slips into bed next to me. He smoothly places his arm behind his head as an invitation to snuggle. _My most favorite pillow._

I cozy up to his warmth, pressing as close as I can. His heartbeat is now calm with contentment.

“I love you, Din,” I whisper as I listen to the clear, crisp sounds of his murmurless heart. _Perhaps I had healed him?_ I think to myself, slightly unnerved but reassured in the fact he’s healthy.

His chest rises and falls as he holds me in his strong arms, a place where I am completely safe and free from all fear or worries. I cannot help but feel deeply thankful and completely honored to be his partner, the matriarch of the Mudhorn clan of three.

“And I love you, Hal’ika,” he exhales, holding me tighter in his arms. _He revels in and cherishes the healing warmth of my love. A love that’s magnitudes stronger, and more vivid than he’d ever felt in his difficult, tragic life. He knows no power in the galaxy could ever break the bond our souls share. A bond stronger than Beskar._

I listen to the soft, rhythmic sounds of his heart and lungs, and drift into a deep, blissful sleep, dreaming peacefully of the kind heart of my Mandalorian, my husband, Din Djarin.


	22. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XXII: Dr. Djarin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Halarys enjoy the morning after their wedding night.

Din wakes as the sun crests over the ridges, its warm, golden embrace filtering through the large windows and enveloping my peaceful, dreaming face resting over his chest. He takes a deep, nourishing breath, inhaling my sweet scent.

His heart hotly flickers at the beauty and realization that yesterday _was_ in fact real. 

_He married his cyar'ika, the only woman to have ever held his kar'ta, and now the only woman that ever will._

He watches me for many minutes, enjoying the surreal serenity of my sleeping form against his skin, my hand resting over his kar'ta. He feels invincible and yet very vulnerable at the same time.

"Mesh'la," he purrs softly as I stir.

I slowly wake to his firm, thrumming chest, earning a smile on my lips. 

"Din," I hush through groggy ( _and I'm certain rank morning_ ) breath. I look up to his helm.. _.his helm is off._

_His helm is off!_

_Yesterday was real!_

It wasn't just an amazing dream.

"Good morning," he softly murmurs without the barrier. The honey-smooth tone of his natural voice mixed with his bassy heartbeat prickles and stirs a longing in my lower core for him. As I slowly continue awakening, I glide my featherlight fingertips over his muscled chest and abdomen. My desire strengthens with each beat of his strong heart.

I can't hold back anymore and shift to top his irresistible bones. I feel his arousal is already at full bloom against my bare bottom. He reflexively twitches at the teasing brush of skin against his aching length.

"Good morning, husband," I hush as I shimmy to reach for a taste of his muted pink, velvet lips. 

"Mmmmm," he mumbles through the deliciously sweet kiss, blushing at how wound up I've already gotten him.

My flower's nectar is already dripping, ready for his bloom to take a deep drink. 

I shift to center him, and slowly and carefully sink, fitting almost unbearably _tight_ around him.

He sucks in a shocked lungful of air from the warmth suddenly enveloping him. His heart swiftly clenches beneath his sternum.

"Cyar'ika," he catches his breath. _He can't help the thundering in his chest, the runaway pace I'm building._

I bend and my lips trace flittering kisses along his collarbones. His flesh raises in delighted goosebumps at the sensuous touch. All he can think of is me and this moment, any other thoughts are overwhelmed by the bright heavenly bliss he's experiencing.

My hips move slow, working to spread the slick. It's somewhat uncomfortable at first, pulling at sensitive tissue from last evening, but it quickly starts feeling good.

Din's eyes grow droopy at the overwhelmingly lovely sensation and he runs his hands up and down my hips, reveling in the silken softness of my skin. He drinks in the lovely bounce of my breasts in the natural golden morning light and how my long silvery hair tickles against his chest and neck. He almost can't take it.

His hips connect over and over again with mine. He holds back as long as he can until he can't sit idly anymore. His hips buck as gently as he can and he delves deeper into my core, sending electric shocks skittering over my skin. 

He feels his cup fill to the absolute brim from the heavy, slick waters of our passion - it teeters then tips, rushing its desire all at once deep within me. My wave crashes shortly after, triggered by his release. He feels my wave's crest and his head collapses back down. His handsome chest heaves from the lovemaking.

 _Damn Din,_ I think in my head, swearing I can still feel his powerful thrusts. 

"I love you," Din whispers through his breathlessness. My eyes wander to his, which shine lovingly in the rich, golden morning light. 

I plant a kiss on his wildly bucking heart. "And I've always loved you."

He pulls me close to snuggle on his chest, the rapid beating within starts to calm to its resting rate. His length remains within me. I give him a squeeze and he twitches in response.

 _Hells_ , _he filled me up good even when not at the height of arousal._

We lay entangled for a few minutes as he tenderly traces patterns on my back. I lay peacefully adrift on the gentle rise and fall of his thumping chest, somewhere between the land of asleep and that of awake. I suddenly feel Din's stomach rumble against me.

"You're hungry," I shift and run my fingers over his muscled belly.

"Someone had me working all last night and again this morning," he deeply growls. "Energy very well spent." He pulls me into his arms and I giggle. 

We decide to order room service. We point at and drool over the many decadent menu items. Finally making our decisions, we call in our order. _I order a couple desserts because it's always time for a sweet treat._

We quickly rinse in the shower again and I throw on a robe. Din works on cleaning his helm.

The elevator car eventually dings, prompting Din to hide in the bathroom as I retrieve our meal. I press the button to let the waiter in and doors open swiftly.

"Thank you," I smile at the serviceman.

"You're welcome," the young Mon Calamari responds, lifting the lid on our delicious breakfast. He ducks back into the elevator and bows as the doors shut.

I smile at the fancy service. I feel like royalty.

"Coast is clear," I encourage Din.

He emerges from the room, smiling and completely naked. My hungry eyes sweep over his toned chest and abdomen (and other areas...).

 _I'd love to eat my breakfast off of that fine platter,_ I briefly think, getting myself wound up again.

My stomach growls as the aromas of breakfast hit my nose. 

Din saunters over, almost like he knows he looks really cute. I smile, resisting the building urge to jump his bones. 

“How about we eat in bed?” I raise a brow and grab one of the trays.

“Sounds good to me, cyar’ika,” he takes the tray from me and I grab our juices.

We make ourselves comfortable on the bed and Din sets the tray between us. He takes a forkful of omelet and offers me the first savory bite.

 _My husband is such a sweetheart_ , I smile to myself.

“Mmmmmm,” I close my eyes and mumble through the tasty mouthful. I grab my fork and slice a morsel off. I offer it to Din - the first bite of food he has ever eaten without any barriers between us.

I enjoy the face he makes, contorted in pleasure, and how he chews the food quickly. _He was likely used to eating fast_ , I surmise, and then inadvertantly think of the naughty taste of my *ahem* he had taken last evening.

We alternate taking bites of the omelet and hashed root vegetables, feeding each other and completely in love like the lovesick newlyweds we are. 

Din especially likes the creme brulee dessert I had ordered, his eyes close at the delicious flavor - I let him have most of it and smile at how some accumulates on his mustache. 

“Here,” I reach with a cloth and wipe the mess from his face. 

“I’m as messy as the kid, huh?” he quirks an adorable brow and my stomach melts into butterflies.

“Like father, like son,” I smirk and kiss his still sweet lips. “Speaking of, I bet he’d like to see us soon.” I missed our little green runt.

“I’ve been missing him too,” Din looks down and smiles. “I guess I’m just going to have to get some more of this out of my system.” I raise a brow in curiosity and he looks at me mischievously. He grabs the towel from my hands and slowly maneuvers over me and starts kissing me fervently, hot and wanton, forcing me back into the sheets. I giggle as his scruffy facial hair prickles my face and makes me squirm. Our kisses grow more passionate and his body leans on my bladder. My _full_ bladder.

“Din,” I breathe between a kiss. 

“Hal’ika,” he responds, continuing his exploration of my lips and mouth.

“I need to pee,” I hush.

“Oh, sorry,” he lifts his lower body from my belly. He smiles, completely enamored. 

_Gods he was cute._

“Hold that thought, I’ll be right back!” I smile, bounding to the immaculate bathroom. 

“I’ll probably use it after you,” he shouts from the bed.

 _We are definitely a married couple now_ , I laugh to myself as my bladder empties with sweet relief.

Din uses the restroom after me and I notice the sun looks to be set around midday. I decide to fetch my cleaned armor in the laundry room and dress myself for the day. _Ahh, it smelled so clean!_

Din finishes his business and finds me attaching my armor pieces. He’s a little saddened by the addition of fabric and Beskar to my previously bare body, but quickly finds it alluring in another way. 

_His wife is now an honorary Mandalorian. And Din loved that fact. I didn’t need to wear the helmet at all times in public - it was completely my choice as to when I wanted to wear it. Since I married into the culture and never officially swore the Creed, this was appropriate. The Armorer had explained this to him the night before._

“I thought we should get going - it’s already past midday,” I smile, gazing into his chocolate brown eyes and losing myself for a blissful moment.

“I agree, cyar’ika,” he leans in for a kiss as he reaches into the laundering machine for his armor and undersuit.

“We’ll have to continue our affections later tonight,” I wink as I braid my hair back and he pulls his trousers up. “ _I_ can play bounty hunter and _you,_ my naughty bounty. And something tells me I'll need to tie you up,” I seductively tease as I attach my final Beskar piece with a _click._ The naughty scenario has me blushing furiously. 

_His heart skips at the role reversal - he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t actually try that with me if I so wished. Just the thought of making love to me on the Razor Crest, in such an intimate area for him, drove him nuts._

“Din, I’m kidding - well, half-kidding,” I laugh at his look of pondering, his mouth open.

He quirks an eyebrow and looks into my eyes. “Cyar’ika, whatever you want to try, I’m up for it...as long as it doesn’t involve needles or knives,” he smirks and pulls me close.

“No scalpels either,” I agree and kiss his heart.

“Deal,” he huskily replies, grinning. He pulls his undershirt on and I assist in attaching his Beskar pieces.

_Helping him armor-up was almost sexier than undressing him. Almost…_

I grab my helm and put it on, deciding it was easier to wear than carry around. Everything slightly changes, to a tint of light blue.

“My name is Halarys Anavalin Djarin,” I say through the modulator to hear my voice. _Gods it was cool._

Din about chokes on his own saliva hearing me take his last name.

“You don’t have to take my last na-,” he begins.

“I love your last name...And besides, Ristania is just a bitter reminder of my father, who was not a good man,” I smile at the freeing feeling of shedding the vestigial surname (and also at the slight warping of my voice). _I feel like a new person._

He grabs my hands in his and kisses them. “Shall I call you Dr. Djarin now?”

“Princess Dr. Djarin,” I correct, sounding really freaking awesome with the vocoder. 

“Well, certainly your worship,” he plays along and bows like a chivalrous knight before me, his helm tucked under his elbow. I smile and stroke his jawline. _I wanted to kiss him, but my helm is in the way._

“Let’s go claim our little green prince!” I proclaim as I throw on my medic bag. Din finally slips on his helmet, which is sparkling clean.

We head out to take on the new day - our first day as husband and wife - the Mudhorn Clan.

\---------------------

The end of part 22.

The saga will continue...


	23. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XXIII: Until We Meet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their wedding night, Halarys and Din go into Dee'ja Peak to reunite with their son and friends.
> 
> This is a short transition piece.

As we make our way into the elevator, I grab a delightfully firm handful of my husband's rear. 

_Gods Din had nice glutes._

His helm swivels to me and tilts at my cheeky behavior as the door shuts. I just stand stoic and maintain my position, enjoying him. A devious grin grows on my face, hidden underneath my helm.

_A girl had to get in a last feel of her husband before ushering into public._

Din leans close. 

"Doctor Djarin, save it for tonight," he huskily growls into my earpiece, sending sparks which ignite a longing in my core. 

_Dr._ ** _Djarin_ **\- I loved my new last name. And the mention of tonight? _Mmmmhhhmmmm_ , I think, getting another naughty idea.

"You're due for your preventive physical examination anyway. I will be very thorough in ensuring sure my husband is in tip-top shape," I say through the vocoder, and give a quick smack on his bum. 

I sound so awesome and authoritative.

"Hal'ika!" he gasps and lovingly glares at me. He feels the hair prickle on the back of his neck at my words rasped and deepened by the helm. 

_He imagines my petite hands tenderly searching and running over his chest and abdomen and then to his…_

_Ding!_ The elevator door opens to the lobby and I give him another pat on the butt as a modulated giggle escapes from my helm.

 _Hal'ika, you naughty woman_ , Din thinks as he shakes his head. He absolutely loves the attention.

I behave as we make our way through the bright, sparkling lobby, which is slightly tinted blue by the visor. We head out the arched doors.

"I think I know where they all might be," Din announces. "Follow me." He looks at me and grabs my hand, leading the way as we walk across the charming city. I admire his quick, determined gait (as I work to keep up) and how my hand fits in his. My _husband's_ hand.

We make our way through the market and the Gungan again dives behind his stand. Thankfully it seems Din had swayed him to sell fresher fish by the looks of his much cleaner shack. 

Across the way, we brush through the bustling market crowd to a dark bar. We slip through the doors and sure enough, we spot the group in a corner booth enjoying some drinks and food. Green bean is drinking bone broth… _at least that's what I hoped it was._

"Mando **s**!" Greef jovially proclaims the plural greeting with spotchka mug held high in the air. Cara and Pershing turn and smile at us. The two were sharing a bread and cheese appetizer, which made me smile. _They made good friends._

I wave as we continue over. As we reach the tableside, our son looks up from his cup at Din and coos. 

"Hey guys!" I say cheerfully, the modulator softening the higher-pitch edge of my natural voice. The babe's eyes then look to me. 

_I don't think he recognizes me with the helm._

Then I feel his warm energy. My own energy reaches out and the babe smiles and giggles in recognition. 

I enjoyed that our bond was becoming stronger.

Cara clears her throat and then suggestively waggles her brows at Din and I, knowing we had a fun night. I blush furiously under my helm. _And oh did we ever have fun._

Greef suddenly extends his hand, grasping a note. 

"Rallo, that nice Mandalorian from the wedding left you this. I couldn't make heads or tales of it myself," the Guild Leader shrugs his shoulders. Greef was nosy.

Din eagerly grabs it with his rusty-orange tipped gloves. He scans around the bar to ensure no one outside our group is eavesdropping. Satisfied no others are interested, he opens the note.

"What is it?" I ask, craning my neck and peering down at the foreign language.

"Mando'a," Din almost whispers. 

"What does it say?" Greef leans in and squints, trying to read the symbols he doesn't recognize.

"They're coordinates," Din holds the note tightly.

"To what?" I ask, my helm hiding the puzzled look on my face.

"To the monk," Din inhales and looks to the babe who coos. Din feels his heart skipping.

"The Force-wielding monk?" I budge between him and Greef and hold his hand in mine, drawing his attention to my question.

He looks blankly for a few moments and then his helm shifts down to my level. 

"Yes," he finally speaks, dumbfounded that this is the closest we've gotten to any real lead. His pulse races.

"Can we trust this information?" I ask. _I wasn't yet familiar with his Mandalorian friends and family, and I couldn't help but be skeptical._

"Yes, Hal'ika," he nods and gazes into my almond-eyed dark glass.

"You three should get moving," Cara encourages handing the child to Din. "Sounds like his destiny awaits."

 **Our** destiny awaits, I correct her statement in my head. I needed the monk almost as much as the babe. My gift frightened me senseless with how out of control it made me feel, while on the other hand, it made me feel invincible. It was a dichotomy I wanted to mellow and level out. I needed to feel in control of it, entirely.

"Will you not be joining us?" Din sounds almost dejected.

"I think this is where we part, my friend," she scoots out of the booth and stands. "I have a transport set up this evening back to Theed and from there, we can find passage in the starship transport hub," Cara speaks for the group who nod in agreement. She gives him a strong hug and steps back.

"Thank you. Thank you all for your help," Din looks at his friends. _His family._

"Anytime Mando," Greef claps him on the paldron, almost teary-eyed.

Dr. Pershing stands up and clears his throat. 

"If you ever need a second medical opinion on Deridian X-9, I'm available. I am forever grateful to you for freeing me from servitude," the scientist smiles behind large glasses, extending his hand for a shake over the table. Din reaches and gives a firm grip, pulling Pershy close and making the man catch himself with his other hand on the table.

"Take care of her," Din lowly growls in a menacing tone so only the scientist can hear. Pershy blushes and glances at Cara. 

"I promise," he nervously swallows and nods. _He deeply cared for the ex-rebel and meant the words._

Din releases him.

"What was that about?" Cara inquires, chuckling.

"Just telling him not to cause you any troubles," Din remarks.

Cara shakes her head and snorts. "I think you should be worried about me causing the trouble." She looks over to Pershing who blushes and shrugs in agreement.

I observe the interactions between Din and his faithful friends. _Cara and Greef have become mine as well and I will miss them dearly._

Greef approaches me with a big grin. 

"Doctor, I don't think I need to say it, but take good care of the baby and Mando. I'm glad he found someone with whom to share his life and someone who can also save it," he squeezes my shoulder.

"Thanks Greef,” I suddenly didn’t know what to say to the kind Bounty Guild leader. I pull him in for a hug. He softens and hugs back. “Thank you for the wonderful wedding gift and for always watching the kid when we needed a sitter. You're a great friend to Din and our family." The click of his mechanical valve is very audible in my earpiece and I think to its origin story and chuckle. _Greef was certainly a character, but a good man._

Greef releases me, a tear in his eye, and Cara steps over.

"Doc, take care and keep kicking and fixing ass," the ex-rebel pulls me in for a tight hug. I chuckle at her one-liner.

"Thank you for everything Cara. I aspire to kick at least a quarter the amount of ass as you do. Take care of yourself and Pershing," I say, my voice starting to falter with emotion. "Until we meet again." 

She lets me go and sniffles a little, trying to hide it. Pershing comes in next. 

"Dr. Ristan-...I mean Halarys, thank you for helping me. I am indebted to you," my old colleague earnestly peers into my visor.

"I'm the one who owes you. Thank you for keeping both Din and the babe alive," I pull his slender frame in for a hug. "Enjoy your new life Pershy!" I release him and punch him on the shoulder and nod to Cara. 

The geneticist chuckles and nods. _He was happy to have a good friend like Cara._

Green bean loudly coos in Din's arms and looks at us both. He seems ready to go.

"Off to find the monk?" I ask his big green ears and he chirps in response and grabs at my helmet.

"Until we meet again!" Greef raises his glass.

Din nods and we wave goodbye to our friends.

_Until we meet again._


	24. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XXIV: The Murmur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din, Halarys, and their son prepare for the journey ahead in search of the Force-wielding monk.

Waving goodbye to Dr. Pershing, Cara Dune, and Greef Karga, we turn and head out the bar. Din’s chest aches a little from leaving a piece of his heart with each of them, but it is soon soothed as the babe coos in his arms and presses close to his cuirass, as if in a hugging embrace. _The child knew this was a goodbye to our friends - at least for now._

I empathetically lean my helm on his pauldron with a _clank_ and wrap my arms around his free arm as we exit the bar door and enter the lively market crowd. I could tell Din was hurting from parting ways. _Hells, so was I. I’d miss Cara’s smartass smirk, Greef’s grand stories, and Pershy’s awkward, yet kind demeanor._

“You know, after we find the monk and get the answers and help we need, or even if we don’t, we should visit all of them,” I offer as our pace slows. The Beskar man simply squeezes my hand in response. I watch the babe look up at his father with worried eyes, knowing he was sad and he hugs onto him closer. 

_Din appreciates the fact he could confide in me anything at all - no matter how big or small. However, he didn’t have any words to share at the moment. Instead, he wanted to re-focus his attention to our next mission._

“We should stop by the ship first for some supplies,” Din breaks his silence as we continue through the cheery market. I look up at him through my visor. 

“Good idea,” my voice vibrates from the helm as I grab his hand in mine. _We would need supplies - my guess was the monk didn’t live very close to town if it’s been months since commonfolk have spotted her (supposedly the monk was a she, based on the multiple accounts we had gathered)._

Din glances down at my fingers intertwined with his and then to his son resting against his cowl. 

_My family_ , he thinks. The little green bug then chirps seemingly in agreement with his father’s unspoken sentiment, which makes Din smile with such warm love brimming in his Beskar-clad heart. He feels the heavy, unsettled weight in his chest lift, replaced by the calming, affectionate comfort of his wife and child.

We navigate through town and back to the ship. I sing a couple classic songs along the way, thoroughly enjoying the new warp to my voice from my helmet, which I thought gave me a gravelly charm. The babe babbled along too, which made both Din and me smile intensely. _Din found my singing incredibly adorable and endearing, but damn that vocoder was doing nothing to improve my ability to find the proper musical notes. Regardless, he absolutely loved it when I sang._

“Home sweet home,” I sing-song and rub the babe’s ears as we finally reach the Razor Crest and the ramp hisses open. We make our way back into the familiar cargo bay.

“Why don’t you gather a couple days worth of food and drink, medical supplies, and get his pod set up,” Din directs as he sets his son down. “I’ll get some camping and other gear ready.”

“Camping trip?” I say in a silly voice to the curious wide eyes and big ears looking at us wondering what was in store. 

“Well, Mr. Bean, I think we need to choose which buddies come with!” I proclaim, referring to his small hoard of stuffed animals strewn about the ship’s belly. I see there’s now a Dr. Frog with the stethoscope placed where ears for a frog would be. I smile imagining how Cara, Greef, and Pershy had entertained the kid during our wedding night. They were good to him.

Din walks past, his hand affectionately glancing over my shoulder, which sends warm fuzzies pattering over my skin. He then begins with his task of gathering supplies. 

Green bean toddles over and grabs his windhound plush and looks to me and coos.

“Just Mrs. Windhound?” I ask. He chirps in response and babbles nonsensical half-words. I giggle at his chattiness today. Din peeks over from the corner at his son’s speech, feeling his ribs can hardly contain the swelling of its now fluffy contents.

“Well, I certainly admire your dedication to packing light,” I kneel down to his level.

He chirps in agreement.

“Now that _that_ is settled, let’s pick out some yummy foods to take with,” I tickle his belly and he giggles loudly, pulling his stuffie close to shield himself from more tickling.

I rummage in the food storage above the synthesizer and stumble upon the chocolate bars I had purchased on Deridian X-9 - _Din had never got to try them_. I briefly and sourly think of how he and the child were taken by the Imps, but those thoughts are short-lived as I smile and think of the faces both will make trying the decadent chocolate for the first time. I place the bars in my medic bag. I continue to shuffle through the cupboard and find the protein bars and trail mix bag also purchased in that small mining town. I grab and stash them in my medic bag too. I then gather a good amount of water bottles and set them in the child’s pod so as not to forget them. 

“I feel like I’m forgetting something…,” I muse to green bean, who has started playing doctor with his toys which makes me smile. I then remember - _the pastry I had saved for Din to try!_

Din starts rummaging through the armory as I make my way up into the cockpit. I find the bag still under Din’s pilot seat. 

_I’m surprised Greef hadn’t eaten it._ I open it and find a few bites of it were missing. _I thought too soon._

 _Looks like someone had a nibble_ , I laugh to myself imagining an inebriated Greef sniffing out the goodie. _We could easily stop in Theed again to pick up more_ , I thought. I take the pastry bag with so it doesn’t stink up the ship in case we’re gone for a while.

I crawl down the ladder and see green bean has found a new patient: Din. The Beskar man sits patiently on the floor with an assortment of weapons strapped to his back and stuffed animals lined up on either side of him.

_What a sight._

The little green doctor with stethoscope in his great ears, reaches up with the diaphragm to make sure his father is still alive. I can’t help but watch the adorable little healer-in-training play with bounty-hunter-turned-dad Din. 

He starts babbling loudly and claws at the chestplate. He looks up at Din and pats the armor again, muttering babytalk. He continues for a couple moments and Din finally gets the hint. _He wanted him to remove his cuirass._

“You’re bossy like your mother,” Din glances over to me as he detaches the armor, earning a coo of victory from the babe and a sly smile from me, hidden by my helm. _I definitely could be authoritative…_

As the child thoroughly assesses Din’s much-more-interesting heart and lung sounds compared to his stuffed animals, I turn and gather medical supplies: Gauze, bandages, a LR liter bag (one of three left - _I make a mental note to stock up on more soon_ ), peripheral IV kit, bacta, biofiber sutures, and pain medications. The only problem is I can’t fit it all in my bag. 

_Fuck nuggets._

“Do you have another tote I could use?” I turn to Din, who is still being examined by his small green son. A smile tugs at my lips.

“Down in the storage where I keep the extra blankets,” Din points, which earns a reprimanding chirp from bean as he tries to listen. I giggle at the sight. 

“Thanks,” I smile and turn to the storage area. “Now you better hold still for Dr. Green Bean,” I snicker.

Din peers down at the adorable demanding bug, whose eyes are squinted hard-in-focus on the steady rhythm. 

_Din now has absolutely zero personal space since both of us have thoroughly infiltrated his life, but he wouldn’t have it any other way._ He feels a comforting warmness settle around his heart.

I locate the extra canvas bag and transfer the foodstuffs from mine along with extra med supplies that won’t fit in my satchel. Satisfied with my packing, I turn to my husband and child.

“Alright, I’m all set!” I proclaim. Green bean appears to have finished his exam and scuffles over to me struggling to take the earpieces out of his ears. Din stands up and chuckles lightly.

“Clean bill of health for daddy, Dr. Bean?” I ask, bending to pick him up. He chirps his diagnosis and makes a _kkkrrrr_ noise as if trying to say the Mando’a word for “heart”.

“That is a solid diagnosis,” I nod to the talkative bug in my arms. He finally wiggles the earpieces loose from his head and reaches up to my helm as he continues to chatter. He pushes the primitive tool against my helmet with a _tink_ and points to Din and then pushes up my helmet. 

“You want a second opinion?” I look at him quizzically, he keeps pointing at Din who has now come closer.

“You better do what he says,” Din smirks, cocking his head. “Resistance is futile.” He saunters even closer. I raise my brow and then look to the bossy bug who keeps bantering.

“Well, those are all very good points, Dr. Bean. I will take them into consideration,” I say as I set him down. I remove my helm and set it on the floor and the happy little physician-in-training eagerly pushes the tool into my hands. I inspect and wipe off the stethoscope’s greasy earpieces on a loose piece of gauze from my bag. 

_I needed to clean our son’s ears a bit better_ , I chuckle to myself as I place the tool in my ears and look at Din.

“I guess you’re getting your exam a bit early,” I joke, referring to my earlier statement when teasing Din in the hotel lift.

“Looks like it,” he chortles lightly.

Bean chirps and points in anticipation of my diagnosis. _He sure was excited about this._

I look up in Din’s dark glass, smiling at our son’s antics, and place the diaphragm over Erb’s point. I immediately hear his heart beating - surprisingly loud and fairly clear.

 _Not the worst quality for an outdated tool_ , I muse. I listen closely for a few moments and then decide to actually attempt to appreciate his once-there midsystolic murmur. I shift the diaphragm down for a better vantage point. 

_I really wondered if I had healed him, or if my naked ear just wasn’t picking up the faint rasping murmur._

I quickly notice his shirt fabric is now scratching against the diaphragm, creating artifacts. I remove my hand from his chest.

“Can you lift your shirt?” I ask, straight-faced.

“Doctor…,” he leans in close and lowers his voice. “In front of the kid?” Bean remains very attentive to our interactions.

“Your shirt is scratchy and loud against the listening piece. Bare skin is best,” I explain. “Nothing naughty, I promise,” I wink at the last part, which flusters Din a bit. He shakes his head, barely letting out a laugh, and lifts his shirt to expose his bare chest. 

“Breathe in and hold,” I instruct, placing the diaphragm against the best place to hear the tricuspid valve, now taking the playful session more seriously. Din obliges. 

I listen closely. The valve is very clear and crisp with its closure on systole. No trace whatsoever of a murmur. 

_I wonder if I had really inadvertently healed him?_ It scared me the thought of not being in control of the Force. And the fact I could be literally altering the structure of someone’s internal organs. And not just any organ, but _Din’s heart._ He kind of, sort of needed it to be alive. _Wonder if I had harmed him?_ This thought really ate away at my insides.

“Can I breathe now?” Din croaks through his burning lungs.

“Oh my gods, yes, breathe!” I forgot he had been holding his breath. As he takes in oxygen, I go back to listen to his mitral valve which also could be the culprit for a systolic murmur. His heart is now beating rapidly from catching up to deliver oxygen, which I can feel pulsating against the diaphragm in my fingertips. It’s difficult to discern clear sounds with a faster rhythm and his noisy breathing.

I listen for around a minute at the mitral valve as his heart and lungs calm. This valve also sounds very clear and crisp upon closure - absolutely no murmur. I listen to his aortic and pulmonic valves just for good measure which are also perfectly healthy. 

“Everything ok?” he looks down, studying my face, which appears in deep concentration.

“A little too good,” I peer into his dark glass with furrowed brow and listen again to each of his valves to just to double-check.

“What do you mean?” he tilts his helmet. His heart rate quickens slightly in anticipation of what I might say, filling my ears with its baritone tempo.

“You recall when I said you had a murmur?” I ask as I remove the stethoscope from my ears. 

“Yeah…why?” Din still wasn’t sure exactly what it meant, but knew it had me concerned.

“I can’t hear it at all. You are murmur-free,” my eyes stare at his chest and then shift to his dark glass. 

“That’s good right?” he meets my gaze.

“I think my…I think I accidentally healed it,” I look down at my hands at my admission, feeling my stomach bubble with insecurity and lack of control.

“It’s ok, Hal’ika,” Din reassures, pulling me close and tenderly caressing my cheek with his gloved hand. “You said it yourself. I’m healthy. My heart is fine. In fact, it’s better than before.” He gently takes my freehand and presses it flat over his strong, loving heart. 

_He was always so trusting of me and I loved him for it. But I didn’t trust myself_. I look up into Din’s glass.

“I think it’s time we depart to find the monk,” I pat his chest, slipping my hand away, and then glance down to green bean.

“Karrrtah!” the kid bleats when I hand him back the stethoscope, which makes me smile.

“Alright, you heard your mother. It’s time we find this monk,” Din huskily speaks as he replaces his chestpiece. He then picks up his son. _Din knew the best way to ease my mind was to begin our search for this Force-user._

I stroke the little one’s head and he looks at me with his large, dark eyes. I take his little clawed hand in mine, feeling his excited energy.

_We both need their help._


	25. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XXV: The Razor Crest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din, Halarys, and their son begin their journey to the supposed location of the Force-using monk.

“Rallo’s clan will watch over the Crest per her note,” Din answers my question from the pilot seat as he re-parks the faithful ship in a small clearing in the trees, supposedly near the Mandalorian outpost. _If the Armorer trusted this clan, so would Din. And the mere fact that there were so few Mandalorians left, he understood that now more than ever his brethren needed to support one-another._

“That’s very nice of them,” I hum through my vocoder. I'm slowly learning that the Mandalorians are a tight-knit group and take care of one another. Green bean stares up at me, fidgeting with his stethoscope, and babbles as the ship gently lands on the mossy forest terra. _The little bug is starting to become more vocal by the day._

We make our way down from the cockpit to the cargo bay and gather our supplies in hand. Din and I both reach for my extra tote of food and medical supplies.

“I got it,” Din snags the bag away before I can claim it. “You have your hands plenty full with him,” he gestures to the chirping bug in my arms, now levitating his medical toy in the air. 

_What in the world, green bean?_

He giggles as he tractor-beams it back into his hands.

“We better _run_ not walk to find this monk,” I snicker, tickling the little wizard’s ears which makes him squeak. “Or you could use your jetpack and fly us there!” The child chirps in agreement.

“I used most of the fuel on our rendezvous, cyar’ika,” he comes close and caresses my face, reminiscing of his marriage proposal.

“And a most wonderful rendezvous it was,” I slip my hand under his cowl, feeling his pulse quicken beneath my touch.

“Karrrrtaah!” the babe proclaims, sensing his father’s rising heart rate.

“Alright, enough flustering your father. Let’s get down to business for real,” I say, turning and placing the little bugger in the pod along with our water bottles.

“What did you pack in here, Hal’ika?” my husband grunts as he hefts the tote to shift it more comfortably on his shoulder.

“Essentials,” I mutter. “Mostly food and medical supplies.”

“For a small army?” Din tests the weight of the canvas bag again.

“To be fair, Mr. Djarin, you get injured enough to count as a small army just by yourself, and green bean can really put away the food,” I tickle the kid’s belly, earning shrill giggles that echo around the ship’s walls. 

_Ok, I_ might _have overpacked, but better safe than sorry._

Din just nods once and chuckles, knowing I had a valid point and opens the ramp. He carries our packs along with ease and the child’s pod follows faithfully behind with the tap of his vambrace. A coo escapes the green bean as we enter the serene forest.

“Here,” Din holds out a downward-pointed blaster for me. “Just in case.”

“Thanks,” I grab the weapon and holster it inside my med bag for now. _Hopefully I don’t need it_ , I think as the ramp closes shut. 

“Follow me,” Din heads off into a seemingly random section of underbrush and slashes at the thicket with the dark sabre I had taken from Gideon. _The saber looks much, much better in Din’s grasp_ , I muse.

_Din had studied the directions and had already flown us part-way to our destination, in between the Mandalorian settlement and the supposed location of the Force-user._

The babe’s ears and eyes curiously shift around listening to the soft calls of new birds and insects which welcome us to the woods. 

_The forest has a lot to say, huh bean?_ I think to the babe.

Din continues through the under-growth, and the smell of hot plant matter wafts into the air. He cuts through a particularly dense, large leafy plant, revealing an old, partly overgrown stone path on the other side. 

“Follow the crumbling brick road?” I cock my head at him, feeling nervous excitement rise within my gut.

“Yep,” he replies. My gaze shifts to the ancient walkway again.

“We are off to see the monk,” I sing-song in a familiar tune to the child beside me in his pod. “The wonderful monk of Naboo.”

We start on the path and its weathered stone crumbles slightly underfoot.

“From here, it’s still around a day and a half hike. We will need to set up camp in a few hours,” Din surmises, looking up through the canopy. 

“So we _will_ be camping?” the excitement in my voice is curbed by the modulator.

Din stops, then turns to me, looking at me intensely. _Should I not be so excited for camping?_

“Before I forget, I wanted to show you something,” Din reaches to my helm.

“What do you mea-?” I don’t finish my sentence as he taps something near my right earpiece and my eyes are preoccupied with a change in settings of some sort. I look at Din and suddenly a set of vitals appear in the periphery of my visor: Heart rate (96 BPM), blood pressure (113/71 mmHg), respiratory rate (13 RPM), spO2 (98%), and temperature (36.8 degrees Celsius).

“The Armorer might have known you were a doctor. She insisted on medic settings in your helmet,” he shares with a large smile shining in his voice. 

“Are these your?” I’m almost at a loss for words as he nods. _How kriffing neat!_

“My armor,” he pats his cuirass, “has tech that communicates with your helm,” he points at my visor. “You can always check on me, even if I’m on the opposite side of a planet - but it’s range doesn’t quite reach beyond that,” his heart and respiration rate increase while he proudly explains the Mandalorian technology. I finally realize that the wiring in his undershirts have another function besides his weaponry and temperature control _._

“I love it!” I grab onto him and hug as best I can with all the bags he’s carrying. “Thank you to you and your Armorer. She is extremely talented.” 

“Hal’ika,” he chortles, feeling exceptionally warm-hearted from my exuberant reaction. “Can I show you something else?” he timidly offers.

“Wait, there’s more?!” I squeal in glee. Din’s heart rate rapidly increases (130s and climbing). _Someone is very passionate about this,_ I smile to myself - I'm also feeling like an excited child on Life Day to see what other things the helm could do. 

He exhales a breathy laugh and reaches to the other (left) earpiece. “This side accesses the basic functions." He taps it and the vitals disappear to reveal infrared vision. I look at Din, who is a mix of hot white and red. I can hear his blood rushing through his veins. 

“Infrared and sound amplification tech,” he explains.

“This is so cool,” I exhale. My head shifts to look at green bean who is a hot, white color, his little heart and breath sounds steadily pulse in the helm. He coos in curiosity at what we’re so happy about. 

“Look back on the path,” Din directs.

Wondering what he means, I turn and notice heat-like spots on the ground.

“Are those… _our_ footprints?” I guess, studying the trajectory.

“Yep. You can track the recent steps of your target, for up to a few minutes after the fact,” Din almost brags, getting more excited by the moment as he shares the tech with his riduur.

I trace our tracks with my visor and then reach Din’s feet. My eyes shift up at him and I hear his bassy pulse coursing very quickly. 

_My sweet Din is sure excited…how adorable!_ I think, thoroughly enjoying learning more about his Mandalorian roots and how he navigates the world with his helmet.

With my hand, I reach up and feel around the side of the helm for the medic setting. Din notices and reaches to my hand, guiding my lost fingertips to the protruding metal in the center of the right ear. 

“There - _that_ is the medic setting control,” his voice is low and husky as he presses my fingers against it.

His vitals appear again, heart rate (140s BPM). _He’s very excited._

I tap on it again, thinking the display will return to normal vision, but I’m surprised when everything turns dark and gasp.

“Cyar’ika?” Din asks, with a hint of concern. My eyes shift to his voice and I suddenly see his skeleton and the main internal organs within his torso.

“What the hells?” I mumble, studying the fluoroscopy-like live image. His bones shift as he reaches for my shoulders. My eyes instinctively fall to his chest. His ribs expand and contract as his lungs inflate and deflate. His heart beats rapidly, nestled underneath his sternum and between his lungs. I can see evidence of old breaks on nearly all of his ribs and on both his clavicles - my handheld scanner provided more of a close-up window, versus a whole-picture view, and I hadn’t seen these past injuries before. Some are not optimally healed as evidenced by a ridge or slight kink where bone should be smooth, but they seem to allow proper function.

 _Poor Din._ I reach to trace the old injuries, but my hand is not visible. _It must be linked to his armor only_ , I surmise.

“What do you see, Hal’ika?” he leans closer and his heart skips wondering what other settings the Armorer had included, which draws my attention again to the vital organ.

“Your kar’ta,” I admit. _I can’t help but fondly think back to the first time we met on Fara._

“O-oh,” his voice nervously stutters along with his heart. _The situation also triggers Din to think back to our first encounter, feeling nightmoths fluttering beneath his sternum. He reminisces how he had felt so vulnerable yet warm around me back then, and how that feeling remains quite the same, if not even more intense, now that I was his riduur._

“I can also see your bones and most other internal organs too,” I continue and look up to his face. His skull shows evidence of multiple healed hairline fractures and his right cheekbone displays some old injury as well, which I guessed corresponded to the scar there. I couldn’t focus on cartilage (as I’m certain his nose had been broken a few times), but something told me this view was adjustable to various tissue types or depths. _I’d experiment later._

I’m nowhere near an orthopedic specialist, but my professional medical opinion is: _Din’s body has been royally beaten the fuck up. Repeatedly_. 

It makes me wish I could have tended his wounds and helped him heal more quickly and properly - or better yet, have been there to prevent them in the first place. Evidence of all the physical pain he’d endured makes my soul ache. 

“It’s probably not as good as your scanner,” he tries to lighten the mood, now guessing I can see the remnants of all his internal injuries. _He knows the body language I display when I'm concerned about something._

“Some superficial soft tissue is missed, but the images are even better quality than my scanner to be honest,” I admit, looking again at his healthy, yet swiftly beating heart once more. _It reminds and reassures me that he's alive despite all the hardships that have been thrown at him. He is tough. He is a Mandalorian Warrior._

I reach to the medic-setting control again and the visor switches back to normal view this time. 

“Mandalorian tech is quite advanced,” he nods proudly. He feels his soul soar from sharing his culture with his cyar’ika, and my positive reaction to the tech makes it so much more rewarding. He looks at me, grabs my hand, and we continue walking.

_I'm still quite unnerved by his numerous, old orthopedic injuries._

“Did you _ever_ see a doctor before me?” I ask, almost rhetorically, hoping he’d say “no” because whoever treated him should _not_ be practicing medicine.

“Uh no, not really,” he looks at the ground and huffs amusedly. “Not really any time in-between bounties. Sometimes I saw a medic in our covert, but that was only for really serious things that wouldn’t stop bleeding after a few days or a bad wound I couldn’t reach on my own.” 

_After a few days?_ I repeat his words in my head and almost laugh at the dangerous ridiculousness.

“That explains a lot,” I nod my head. _I basically had already known he is the type to self-patch and grin-and-bear-it. No one to report to the Board thankfully._

“But, if I had known where you had been practicing, I would have made it a habit,” his T-visor shifts to my almond-eyed one.

I chuckle. “If more patients like you showed up, I’d need an assistant or three,” I snort.

“What does _that_ mean?” his helm cocks in a playfully accusatory manner. 

“My guess is you’d show up half-dying. I’d need the extra hands,” I retort.

“You’re probably right, Hal’ika. I wouldn’t want to bother you with just a scratch or simple blaster wound,” he deadpans, which makes me laugh.

“Speaking of assistants,” I point at the pod. “Looks like my physician-in-training is wiped out.” The babe is sleeping now, adorably hugging his windhound.

“Looks like it,” Din agrees. A soft smile comes to his scruffy face beneath his helm.

We continue along the path for a ways, not saying much but enjoying each other’s company amongst the emerald fauna and singing birds. Din is a stubborn metalhead and won’t let me take a bag despite my numerous offers and attempts to nab it from him, but he finally lets me strap a couple weapons around myself, including his Amban sniper rifle (he finally told me what the wicked-looking, deadly weapon is called).

“Did I ever tell you about my days in the Mandalorian Fighting Corps?” Din breaks the silence.

My ears perk up and stomach flutters immediately at his offer to tell me about himself.

“Only that you were in it! Please, please, please tell me more!” my extreme excitement manages a squeaky voice through the modulator as I squeeze his hand and arm, very eager to hear his stories.

“Well, I wasn’t much older than twelve when I swore the Creed and began my training,” he begins.

“That’s really young!” I exhale. _The Mandalorians obviously don’t joke around with their military._

“The training is quite rigorous - 18 hour days, 6 days a week and it takes years to complete,” he looks at the ground. “I finished combat training at age 16 and then went onto special air forces training for a couple years.” 

“Wow,” my gaze shifts to him. “That’s absolutely insane,” I shake my head in awe. “That is a _very_ long time to commit to anything, especially something so physically and I’m sure mentally challenging.”

He shrugs. “It was my duty. The Mandalorians saved me and brought me up as their own. I owe my life to them.”

“That is very noble,” I nod. _Din, afterall, is a person of utter respect and loyalty, which I love about him._ “Did you make any _friends_?” I emphasize the word with insinuation. 

He chuckles a little, thinking of a handful of boyish crushes he had on some of the young women in his class (who had all very thoroughly kicked his ass in hand-to-hand combat training). The thought made him blush.

“Oh come on, don’t hold out on me!” I playfully poke his side.

“Yeah, of course I had some friends,” he stops chuckling and his stance sobers. He then thinks back to his late-mentor and friends lost during the Empire’s reign on Mandalore.

***Flashback to Fighting Corps training around 16 years ago on Mandalore, under Bo-Katan Kryze’s Faction of Death Watch, which still operated despite Imperial Rule***

“Very good Verd’ika ( _Private_ ) Djarin,” Sol’yc Ruus’alor ( _First Sergean_ t) Kytax watches as he hits each of the 10 moving targets squarely in the bullseye with his faithful blaster. _She is thoroughly impressed and proud at how the foundling’s skills have flourished under her training._

Like the well-trained soldier he is, Din holsters his weapon and stands tall and straight as his superior walks behind him and next orders his bunkmate and best friend for nearly 5 years, Tren Ghadia, to begin firing at the targets on her command.

Din and Tren (and a handful of other privates) were completing their final training in order to rise in rank to Beviin Alor’uus ( _Lance Corporal_ ) before entering the Mandalorian Air Forces training program. They had recently passed the final physical endurance test earlier that day: A brutal obstacle course designed to test hand-to-hand combat skills consisting of dozens upon dozens of combat-training droids hidden in half a dozen dilapidated buildings where one had to defeat at minimum 90% of the droids in under 3 hours, followed by a 10 km run in full combat gear in under 45 minutes. Although Din had passed, the Corps physician warned him to keep his heart rate in check and work on his grip strength or else he might fail the pilot program.

Din, Tren, and two of the other Verd’ikase ( _Privates_ ) passed the final sharp-shooting examination. They were promoted on the spot to Beviin Alor’uuse (Lance Corporals) and now eligible for Air Forces training. 

————

“Verd’ika Djarin, it is both my honor and privilege to promote you to Beviin Alor’uus!” Sol’yc Ruus’alor Kytax announces as she removes Din’s old, green chestplate, replacing it with a new, brown-painted Beskar cuirass. “For the glory of Mandalore!” she proclaims, fist over her heart.

“For the glory of Mandalore!” Din repeats loudly with fist over his heart. He stands stoic despite feeling his pulse race from his achievement as the others clap and cheer.

Kytax subtly leans in and whispers to him, “I’m very proud of you, foundling.”

  
Din’s heart swells beneath the new cuirass. He had only ever wanted to make his commander proud - Nal’ak Kytax was, afterall, the closest person he had to a parental figure. _Plus, she was a badass warrior, having taken down a platoon of nearly 30 stormtroopers on her own during a previous battle._ She fervently hated what the Empire was doing to Mandalore and Din obviously naturally hated them as well.

Tren receives his new cuirass next and as Kytax makes it down the line to the following promotee, he gives Din a cartoonishly enthusiastic thumbs up, making Din chuckle and shake his head. _Tren was such a swamp clown._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They celebrated later that evening:

“Din, you kriffing womp rat! We did it! We made it into the Air Forces program!” Tren punches Din in the head playfully, but hard (Tren had a good 15 cm and 30 kg of weight on Din).

“We still have to apply,” Din chuckles at his friend’s exaggerated enthusiasm as he rubs at his helm.

“Yeah, but that’s just desk work and a physical - we’re basically pilots already,” Tren kneels down to the floor beside Din’s bed and rests his back against the bunk frame, letting out a contented sigh.

“The only thing you’ve flown is a porg-shaped kite, _Tren’ika_ ,” Din jests at his pal, bringing up the toy they had shared growing up and the old (and very embarrassing) nickname. It earns Din another playful punch and they both heartily laugh.

As elated as Din is, his body is absolutely aching from the physical endurance test earlier in the day and frankly, he just wants to sleep. He slumps back onto his bed on the lower bunk and sighs heavily, gloved hand tracing the kar’ta Beskar on his brand new chestplate.

“I’m going to fly that Razor Crest so smooth and fast, the Empire won’t know what hit ‘em,” Tren shares as he motions with his hand through the air mimicking a ship and daydreams of aerial battles to come.

“The Crest?” Din chortles. “That thing is an archaic hunk of scrap metal your great-great grandmother probably kriffed in,” he laughs loudly.

“Gross you kriffing Imp sniffer. Don’t knock the Crest until you try it, Din. She’s an oldie, but a goodie,” Tren folds his arms defensively over his chest.

“Alright, calm down, calm down, I’m just kidding around,” Din knew Tren loved the Crest and it was a sore spot. 

“I’m planning on asking Flosa out,” Tren abruptly switches the subject.

“Woah, that new badass Verd’ika?” Din sits up in bed shifting to the edge. 

“Yes, well, she kind of challenged me to a fight,” his pal further elaborates, shrugging and nodding his head.

“She’s so going to kick your sorry ass,” Din chuckles, shaking his helm.

“I hope so - it would be an honor to be trapped beneath her lovely armor,” Tren sighs dreamily.

“You’re a perv, Tren’ika,” Din kicks him in the helm and Tren falls over laughing. 

“I’m going to marry that woman some day,” his visor shoots Din a look.

“Night Tren’ika,” Din amusedly huffs and switches off his bunk light.

“You’re just jealous, Din-man,” the larger Mandalorian makes his way to the top bunk as loud as he can, making Din chuckle.

——————

Tren in fact married Flosa Hurtta a year later, she was 16 and he was 17. This wasn’t unusual for Mandalorians as lifespan for a martial culture could be quite short despite the advancements in armor, weapons, and medical technology.

Nearly a couple years into their pilot training, just months shy of graduating, Tren and Din were caught in an Imperial ambush on their base. The Empire was trying to snuff out resistance groups like the splinter group of the Death Watch faction that they belonged to:

“Din!” Tren screams and chokes through the billowing smoke and rubble of their bunkhouse, desperately trying to find his best friend. 

_No response_.

“Din!” he shouts again, throat raw and lungs ragged as he scans the debris with his infrared vision. A stormtrooper pops up from behind the remnant of a pillar and fires at him.

Tren takes cover behind a jagged cement half-wall. He tracks the Imp’s movements with his infrared tech through the concrete. Just as the trooper nears, Tren whips around from his hiding spot and shoots the Imp dead.

He scans for any other troopers. 

“Din!” he screams again and scans the perimeter, this time for his friend. He spots a body about a dozen meters away and hones in.

“I’m here!” Din’s voice coughs from the ash and he lifts himself. 

“Din!” Tren yells as he reaches his dear friend’s side. “Are you injured?”

“I’m fine,” Din groans. “Just got the wind knocked out of me,” Din pats his damaged cuirass, feeling quite bruised beneath. Tren eyes the misshapen metal and starts laughing hysterically. Din starts laughing too, causing his chest to ache. He holds his arm to brace his likely broken ribs - it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.

“You look like a mudhorn made you their doormat,” Tren cackles pointing at his bud’s disheveled armor.

“I feel like it too,” Din adds in, laughing harder, now feeling the definitively sharp pain of broken ribs pang at his lungs. “Kriff,” Din mutters, still chuckling.

“Alright buddy, let’s get-,” Tren starts.

.

.

.

Din watches in horror as a sniper blaster shot tears through his best friend’s unarmored neck. His body slumps to the ground.

“Tren!!!” Din screams diving down to grab his friend. He pushes the pain in his ribs away as he drags his comrade to shelter behind a pile of rubble. Din scans the area with his infrared vision, not seeing anyone else. 

“Tren,” he turns his friend over and applies pressure to the gushing neck wound. “Tren, hey stay with me!” Din orders, smacking the side of his helm with his freehand. 

“Tren, no. No you can’t die.” Din wheezes, coughing up a scant amount of blood that bites bitterly at the back of his tongue. “Tren!” 

Gurgling noises come from the larger Mandalorian’s helmet and his chest stops moving. Din stares in cold terror at the excessive amount of warm, thick red blood that pools around and underneath both of them. 

“Godsdammit Tren,” Din grabs his friend’s hand as he let’s go of his neck, knowing it was too late. He brings his helm’s forehead to that of his fallen brother.

_Tren is dead._

_His best friend is dead._

Blaster fire comes at Din and 3 troopers approach. A fiery rage in Din’s chest roars through him and he leaps up drawing his blaster. With rapid-fire, he takes out the goons in a blink.

He had gotten separated from Kytax in the ambush.

He sees a helm amongst the rubble near the half-standing hanger. He runs toward it and abruptly stops a few meters away. He couldn’t make himself come any closer.

“No,” he chokes as he about falls to his knees. The bloodied, dark blue hue and yellow outline around the broken almond-eyed visor shared with him the disturbing fate of his leader. “Kytax,” he exhales, shedding a hotly angry tear.

“Put down the weapon!” A voice shouts from behind. Din slowly turns, facing a half dozen troopers. “Surrender!” he orders the last Mandalorian.

Din is tempted to give up, just be done with it now. 

_His family is dead._

But something, a feeling so familiar yet foreign he can’t explain, beckons him to look into the hanger. He can’t ignore the now-demanding nudge in the back of his mind.

He glances over and there, in the remnants of the building a couple dozen meters away, the Razor Crest sits, completely untouched, unscathed. _Tren’s favorite ship._

“I said drop the weapon!” the trooper shouts and the group aims their weapons at the young Mandalorian.

Din looks at them, and in a split second, makes a break to the ship. 

“Halt!” the trooper shouts as blaster shots rush past Din. He’s running faster than he’s ever ran. A shot hits his pauldron, prompting him to return fire over his shoulder. He wounds a couple of the goons as he reaches the ramp and catapults himself in and shuts the entrance.

He rushes up the ladder and into the cockpit.

Laser fire blasts against the hull. 

“Alright old girl, let’s get out of here,” Din powers up the engines, thinking of Tren rambling on about the sweet old-school features of the ship, which makes Din’s eyes sting.

He turns the ship out of the hanger and shoots a couple more troopers down with its blaster cannons.

He ascends, overlooking the destruction of his home, angry and afraid. He breaks through Mandalore’s atmosphere into the darkness of space and kicks it into hyperdrive. He didn’t know where he was going, but he felt he had to run far away. 

It was then that Din retreated with his buddy’s beloved Razor Crest and fell out of contact with his fellow Mandalorians as his surrogate family was dead. All he knew was again gone - torn away from him by the Empire. 

———————

Din became desperate for fuel and food and fell in with the wrong crowd (i.e., Xi’an and company) for around a year. Despite losing his Mandalorian family, he strictly stuck to the Creed in honor of their memory. Unfortunately, with the criminal misfit group, he was tempted and harassed to give into countless horrible acts of violence. It was a part of Din’s life he was completely ashamed, and some things he had done haunted him to this very day.

He later was contacted by Flosa who knew the radio frequencies of the Crest as she had sent messages to her cyar’ika, Tren, countless times (she had survived along with a small group of others). This made Din long for returning to Mandalore, knowing some of his family had liveed. After having enough rebellion and heartbreak from Xi’an’s impossible actions, he returned to Mandalore where he reconnected with a group. This was the group that would later call themselves the Tribe after fleeing on the Crest with Din to Nevarro, during the height of the Great Purge.

—-End of Flashback Sequence—-

“Din, are you ok?” I reach to his tensed shoulder and he stops. He forces the bad thoughts away and takes a few beats to collect himself.

“Many of my friends are gone,” he curtly responds and slowly begins to walk again. 

I take his hand in mine and just hold it. I know I’d stirred up bad memories and I don’t want to pry. 

“I know I would have liked your Mandalorian friends,” I gently say, unable to hold my tongue any longer. 

Din just squeezes my hand in response, thankful for my kind soul - thankful I’m truly the best friend he’s ever had. 

As I hum some old tune my mother used to sing, I notice the sky is turning a warm orange in its sunset. He notices me looking up at the vibrantly-colored atmosphere.

“I think we should set up camp up ahead, cyar’ika,” he points to a small clearing, flat and apt for a campsite.

“Sounds good to me, Din,” I lean into his side as we walk, making his blood thump loud in his ears. _It will take many, many years to not become so excited by her touch,_ he thinks to himself.

We reach the little spot and the babe remains asleep in his pod amongst the water bottles. 

“How can I help?” I mew. Din takes in how the sunset’s light filtered through the trees warmly glows off my armor. _My sweet riduur_ , he thinks.

“Hal’ika, if you want, you can collect some dry branches for a fire,” Din instructs. “I will set up the shelter,” he says as he sets down the large bags he’d been carrying.

“Fair trade,” I quickly agree. _I didn’t know how to set up a tent to be honest_. “Let me know if I can help with anything else,” I say over my shoulder, spotting some old branches on the mossy ground.

“I might need your assistance with staying warm tonight,” he slyly quips, which makes me snort loudly. _Good one, Din._

“Well, I think I might be able to help with that for a small fee,” I tease as I bend and pick up a couple sticks on the periphery of the campsite.

“And what fee might that be?” he cocks his head curiously.

“A kiss and your chest as a pillow,” I purr beneath my helm.

“Not to dash your plans, but I might need to keep my armor on tonight,” he reluctantly shares.

“Fair point, my Mandalorian hubby. Fair point. A kiss will have to suffice,” I small smile forms on my lips, lips which are again looking forward to meeting his.

I continue gathering firewood and decide to switch my view to infrared as the forest grows darker. Scanning around, I see what looks to be a two-legged creature of some sort in the far off distance. 

_Probably just a forest creature like up on Dee’ja Peak,_ I tell myself, not being able to help but think of scary ghost stories that frightened me as a child. Suddenly, the creature disappears from view. I glance around seeing if I can track it, but nothing. 

_Fast little guy_ , I tell myself as I tap the helm control again and my view returns to normal. I return to collecting the driest sticks.

With a proper armful of (mostly) dry branches, I return to the rest spot. Din has our shelter nearly ready as he unpacks and drapes a large canvas over the rope frame tied between trees. A padded blanket covers the mossy ground inside. 

“Looks good,” I compliment his handiwork. 

Din turns and notices my armful of wood.

“You can place those in the hole I dug there,” he points to a spot about a couple meters from the edge of the tent.

I place the sticks in the little fire pit as requested. Din bends down beside the tent and produces some larger logs.

 _Someone was busy in the fifteen minutes I was gone,_ I think.

He sets the timber on the kindling and rearranges the wood pieces to his liking.

“Stand back,” he warns.

“Why?” I ask, stymied what he was planning.

A stream of fire shoots from his vambrace, making me jump. It ignites the wood almost instantly and he cuts the flamethrower.

“Because of that,” he remarks, tapping his gauntlet.

I laugh, catching my breath. “So _that’s_ the famed flamethrower,” I say a little too amused. Din hadn't yet used it in my presence, but had mentioned it on Deridian. _The Mandalorian likes his gadgets._

“I think we’re all prepped for the night,” Din assesses, looking around.

“How about dinner?” I offer. “Or rather, dessert first?”

“Hal’ika…,” Din’s voice falters, thinking I mean something other than food. “ _Here_ , in the woods?”

I chuckle loudly, thinking in hindsight my wording could be taken as an innuendo.

“No, I literally meant dessert!” I snort and produce a couple chocolate bars from my medic bag. “Although the other kind of dessert sounds really good too.” 

I remove my helm and breathe the fresh woodland evening air with hints of the smoky campfire.

Din’s pulse jumps at how the flames dance their warm light across my striking features - at times, he’d swear I wasn’t entirely human with how fair my skin and hair were and how piercing, almost glowing, my eyes appeared. 

He again reminisces of our first meeting and the smoldering wreckage of an Imp ship outside my doctor’s office. Back then, he never would have known that the stubborn healer he hoped had answers about his foundling would become his wife, _his riduur_. _How life can bring very unexpected and very wonderful things,_ he muses. 

“You got to try this chocolate bar,” I hold it up to him. “For Life Day, my mother used to give me something similar. They are delicious.” 

Din grabs my hand and helm from the ground, leading me into the tent. We crouch inside and the pod follows in as well. Green bean stirs slightly and yawns, but promptly falls back asleep.

“Just in case someone walks past,” Din explains the scene change, pointing to his helmet. 

“Like the creature I saw while picking up wood?” I laugh. _We were in the wilderness, I didn’t think anyone else would be out here._

“What creature?” he tenses, and instinctively looks around, switching to his infrared view.

“I think it was one of those ruminant creatures we spooked while jetpacking on Dee’ja Peak,” I explain, looking around now myself, a little creeped it might not actually be one of those harmless animals.

“Oh yeah, tiqua are ubiquitous here,” Din eases up.

“Tiqua? Well, they are cute,” I giggle, thinking of their long, trunk-like noses, large dark eyes, and big rounded ears.

“Not as cute as you, cyar’ika,” he lifts his helmet and his scruffy smile appears. I lean in for a kiss and taste his soft lips. _Ugh, how did I go all day without this?_

We finally take a break from eating each other’s lips and I unwrap the chocolate bar. I bring it up to his mouth. He goes cross-eyed looking at the sweet treat shoved in his face and smiles.

“Bite,” I insist, my eyes wide and smiling, awaiting his reaction to the flavor. 

He opens his mouth and takes the most gigantic bite, almost biting my fingertips.

“Damn, I might lose some pieces too,” I tease. His eyes flutter closed and eyebrows crinkle upward in delight at the rich, decadent cocoa bar. “Good, huh?” I study his facial expressions as he chews the large morsel and nods his head. I giggle, feeling extremely fulfilled right now. He swallows his bite and I offer him the other half, which he eagerly stuffs into his mouth all at once. 

I start into mine, savoring much smaller bites. 

“So good,” I mumble through a piece as it melts in my mouth. Din nods. I offer him the remainder of my bar. 

“You enjoy it, Hal’ika,” he nods his head at me. He doesn’t want to deny me the remainder of my treat.

“No, you have it - I have many more!” I smile my aquamarine gaze and hold it up to him. He needs the calories - gods know he burned a lot carrying those heavy bags all this way.

He doesn’t argue this time and takes the bar from my hand. He makes quick work of it, making me happy he likes it so much. It feels like sharing a part of my childhood with him, and also like somehow I've always known him.

As we continue our dinner and munch on protein bars and some trail mix, we chat about our favorite foods and which ones we wanted each other to try. I was most curious about the spicy mushroom and freeze dried fruit soup he described - _how can that be good?_

Din suddenly jumps over, shielding me with an arm, which makes me about spill my water.

“Did you hear that?” He slides his helm on with his freehand. 

“Probably just a little-,” I start and before I know it, I’m thrown flat on my back with a blue lightsaber hovering over my neck.

_Kriff._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: 
> 
> I am not a Star Wars or Mandalorian history/military expert by any means, and I took many many liberties writing Din’s backstory. I did some research (and have been watching Clone Wars which now I'm super into), trying my best to figure out the timelines and the power dynamics on Mandalore at the time Din would/might have been there. Feel free to critique. I tried really hard to make it believable with the things currently known as canon from Season 1. As always, thank you for reading my story! 


	26. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XXVI: The Monk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Halarys, Din, and the Child find the help they need?

"What are you doing here?!" the sneering voice of my attacker demands with her glowing blade hovering over my throat. Her features above the bridge of her nose remain obscured in shadow underneath a cream cloak - however, the ornate white lines on her sun-kissed turmeric face give away her species in an instant. 

_Togruta_. 

I _feel_ her energy. Sharp. Determined. _And pissed._

She precisely lowers the lightsaber even nearer to my exposed neck, demanding an immediate answer as the surging plasma almost burns my flesh. Fierce, blue eyes now come into view and shift between mine and Din's visor. His blaster’s precisely trained on her head. 

“I _said_ , what are you doing here, _Nightsister_?” she repeats in a growl, the blade sinking even closer to my neck, much too close for comfort and forcing my hand. 

Static electricity sweeps up over my spine, down my arms, and instinctively erupts violently from my hands in a blink. The woman is briskly heaved backward through the seared opening in the tent she had just created. She catches herself on her feet with ease as I lift myself from the ground, rubbing the sunburn-like line on my throat.

_Nightsister...I haven’t heard that since my mother…_

My thought is broken as Din rushes out, cape unfurling behind as he jumps at the opportunity to take her down, aiming his blaster. Her surging blade lunges at him and he fires twice at her torso. 

.

.

.

She swiftly dodges both and twirls around, her hooded cape swirling with her effortlessly fluid motion. Din fires another shot and it's deflected in an instant, shooting right back to his left pauldron, which jars him slightly off balance and elicits from him a deeply annoyed grunt.

Din aims again, but in less than a heartbeat, the Togruta has his weapon pointed upward with invisible grip, sending the shots intended for her flesh into the thick foliage above, and her saber points at the ornate indent in the center of his chestplate. 

"Wanna test if Beskar can take a hit with this?" she snarls, her features scrunching in anger as she jousts the sputtering blue blade’s tip toward Din's heart, just a hair’s width from his cuirass. 

Din grunts in protest, struggling against the seemingly unbreakable power locking his arm straight up in the air, chest heaving with boiling adrenaline. _Kriff._

And I’m panicking - everything's happening so fast. I have no idea if Beskar can stop a lightsaber, and I don’t want to experiment with how close she has it aimed. I resist the temptation to fight.

“Stop! We mean no harm!” I shout at her, my arms gingerly poised upward in surrender as I calm my breath. I need to diffuse the situation.

She briefly turns her blue gaze to me, slightly puzzled by my words. Din's attack isn't making my words very convincing. 

_Keep her distracted, cyar'ika_ , Din thinks as he starts to raise his free arm to take her out with the flamethrower.

In an instant, the hooded head snaps back to Din just before he can activate the firestream, and she pins that limb flush against his side with her unrelenting Force-grip, rendering him completely harmless, all the while keeping her blade aimed excruciatingly close to his chest.

He growls in extreme displeasure from the tightening sensation all around his arms and torso. He can't even shuffle his feet. _Kriff_ , he curses in his head as his blaster falls from his immobilized hand to the mossy ground and he tenses against the imperceptible restraints.

“Please,” I implore calmly, despite feeling my stomach churn with anxiety and ready to throw her backwards again if she nudges that saber’s point any closer to my husband’s chest. “We need your help. We don’t want to fight you.” I glance at Din, encouraging him to stop his struggling.

She studies me for a few moments and then the growling Beskar-clad man in front of her. All at once, she releases Din, his upright hand veering forward as the rest of him stumbles from bracing against the Force-restraint. She maintains her blue blade’s position in his direction as insurance. 

"You said you need help," she more calmly repeats, but still with a bite of distrust and impatience, with scrutinizing eyes squinted. “Why would someone like _you_ need help?” Her tone is accusatory and skeptical.

I’m not quite sure what she means by that, but I continue. “Because we -," I start my sentence, and as if on cue, a small coo sounds from behind and the babe toddles to my side.

"It can't be," the woman exhales, immediately withdrawing the plasma blade into its handle as her eyes widen with something akin to shock. 

Din drops down to his fallen blaster, again aiming it at our ambusher. I hold out my hand to halt his trigger finger.

I feel her intense energy entangle with the child's. The little one reaches up at her with familiarity and giggles.

" _We_ need your help," I emphasize, leaning toward the now much more agreeable woman. 

_I know she is the one._

"The Force is _very_ strong with him," she smiles, hovering a slender hand over the innocent child as if feeling the power radiating from his body, and the babe warmly burbles back.

"You must be the monk," Din sarcastically huffs, keeping his blaster aimed at her head in case she tries anything funny with his son.

"Yes, some might call me that," she smiles, holding a hand out to the wide-eyed child, not sparing the threatening Mandalorian so much as a glance.

"Can you help us? The Child and I - we both possess powers. We need to learn,” I lean down next to her and the gifted babe. Din finally lowers his weapon, although nowhere near comfortable enough to holster it.

"Really, _you_ need help?" she says plainly, voice spiked with a hint of annoyance. She doesn’t exactly sound in the least excited to provide assistance.

"Ok look, I know we started on a bad note,” I unabashedly admit, looking at her eyes, which remain fixated upon the babbling babe.

She scoffs. _Yeah, “a bad note” - that’s an understatement. This one is gentle bred_ , she thinks to herself. 

I turn to her face and look into her large eyes. “You’re the only one we’ve even heard of who possesses such abilities. Please, we need to learn...I feel out of control.”

She briefly makes eye contact, then smiles fondly at the little one. But the smile quickly dissolves into a frown. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I'm the right person," she shakes her head and stands upright.

"We'd pay you." I add the crucial detail, plucking up the babe and standing to her level.

"Money doesn't interest me. I survive on the land and try to stay hidden. Seems I’m not very good at the latter," she huffs, dismissing me with her hand as she turns to walk away.

“We’re good trackers,” Din chimes in, holstering his blaster. He follows the monk for a few steps, grumbling. “Hey, I'm sorry for earlier," he gruffly apologizes, sounding a bit insincere.

She briefly shoots him a dagger glare from over her shoulder, but keeps on her brisk pace. 

The Beskar man continues, attempting to match her swift gait. "Please, we need your help - my son and wife. There must be something we can do in exchange for your help,” he pleads with voice raw. He sounds almost desperate, and very much sincere this time.

She abruptly stops for a moment and turns her head over her shoulder, lekku shifting underneath the fabric.

“There’s nothing you can help me with, if your fighting skills earlier are any indication,” she scoffs and then continues to walk away. 

Din feels his blood surge angry and hot at the insult, but he’s not going to let it show. He needs to maintain his composure for his family, and takes some deep breaths which subtly crackle in his modulator.

With the child in my arms, I trot over in pursuit to see if my words will change her mind. We desperately need her expertise - I can’t let this chance slip away. 

"We could help you with medical supplies." I throw out the only thing I might have of value.

"As you just witnessed, I'm quite good at avoiding injury," she retorts over her shoulder, continuing through the brush.

"Please, you're our only hope," I plead, and the little one in my embrace coos extra pathetically and reaches for her.

The Togruta hears him; she vividly feels his energy, so much so she even momentarily glimpses some blurry visions. She can’t resist but turn as the pull of his soul is undeniable. She peers into his moonlit, large, dark orbs - eyes that are impossibly ancient for someone so young. She feels the little urchin tugging at her tired soul, energy surging, pleading, and compelling her to help. In that moment, she realizes the Child is important.

"Does he have a name?" she steps closer, maintaining her gaze into his eyes.

_Oh gods, this will be awkward..._

"No...well, not yet. He's a foundling," Din musters, watching the woman closely. 

She studies the Child’s features as the little does the same to her. It’s almost as though they are having a telepathic conversation.

"I will do it for the sake of the Child. But only for a trial period of three days. If by then either of you doesn't prove themselves worthy, you must promise to keep me and my location a secret, leave this forest and never return. Or I will behead you and the Mandalorian right here and now, and raise the Child as my own," she says bluntly, face as straight as a Kaminoan’s.

 _Ok, so those are harsh terms, but I don't feel we have any grounds to negotiate with the brash Force-user._

Din doesn't much like the threat either and growls at the thought of her thinking she could speak to me like that. I sense his anger and splay my hand over his heaving chestpeice.

"Hal'ika," he feels my cool, gentle energy soothing the inferno within. 

"It's ok, Din," I reassure. _This is likely our only chance at learning about the Force. I need this._ **_We_ ** _need this._

"We will accept your terms, as long you _promise_ our son's safety," I counter, looking directly into her sharp eyes and holding my son close to my breast. If she’s truly some porg-shit crazy woman conjuring up dangerous activities in her head, we’re out. 

"Yes, he will be unharmed," she nods and then turns away. “At dawn, meet me at the small waterfall which lies just about a kilometer northeast from here. There we will begin the trial.” Suddenly, she flips over a large bush and disappears into the night.

“Well, that went very smoothly,” I sarcastically quip. _She had only about killed us. I wonder who or what she’s hiding from. Hells, if I didn’t currently need her help, I’d be hiding from her!_

“You and the kid should get some rest, Hal’ika. Something tells me tomorrow will be a big day,” he grabs my tensed shoulder and I turn to look into his dark figure. The fire’s light doesn’t reach quite this far out. The babe coos softly in my arms and cuddles close to my chest. I grab my husband’s hand and direct him back toward the tent, but he soons slows his pace to halt.

“Din?” I turn to see why he’s stopped. 

He quietly sighs, his mood now heavy. “I won’t be able to sleep,” he softly speaks as his cool helm, now lit by the fire, dances with warm light. “I need to keep watch. I need to know you’re both safe tonight and I can’t do that while sleeping,” he admits, shaking his head and looking at the ground. He feels he has to make amends for how utterly useless he’d been earlier - the monk had completely overpowered him and there’s nothing he could have done if she had hurt either of us. He feels uneasy, restless, and doesn’t even trust the trees now.

“You need rest too,” I encourage, closing the short distance between us and slipping my hand beneath his cowl. As my fingertips graze against his warm, soft skin, he leans into the gentle touch, tempted for a moment, but then slowly, reluctantly reaches and grasps my wrist gently slipping my hand away.

“Cyar’ika,” he hushes, tenderly reaching up to my face with a leather-covered caress. “I need to do this.” His voice is brimming with raw protective love as I gaze into his flickering glass and lean into his caring touch. I understand where he’s coming from. 

The child babbles and reaches to his father, claws scratching at his breastplate. Din grabs our son from my arms and holds him against the soft cloth on his upper chest and the little one nestles in. The protective father gestures me in for a hug and I rest my head against his warm Beskar, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breath and the faint thumping of his blood. We linger in the embrace for a few minutes, until the child starts to fall asleep, his little breaths puffing against my hair. 

“Time for bed,” Din whispers lovingly, voice warm and soothing. We walk back to the damaged tent, slightly crouching to fit inside. Din sets the little one in his pod, carefully tucks him in and with a tap of his vambrace, closes the cover to seal him in for the night.

“You can at least stay for a little bit?” I whisper, pawing at his shoulder, really wanting him to stay. 

“Hal’ika,” he exhales, looking over from his crouched stance and fighting the urge to give into my doe eyes.

“Cyar’ika,” I purr back and lean over, lifting his helm just enough for a soft kiss. His lips are still stained with sweetness from the chocolate from earlier. 

He quickly melts into my demanding, intoxicating touch, my fingers running through the hair on the nape of his neck and to keep his helm from falling back down. Blood courses rapidly through his veins, like many rushing rivers, ushering his kisses to grow more hungry, more passionate. 

Somewhat blinded by the shifted helm, he carefully lowers me back onto the sleeping pad and straddles my hips, not breaking our lips’ drunken splendor. The unspent adrenaline from earlier makes his desire burn hot and his length aches, demanding release. He _almost_ wants to take his vibroknife and slice the fabric standing separating my blossom from his burgeoning need. It’s almost too much. He has never felt this way around a woman - not even close. He needs me...and he needs me _now_.

His deep, starving kisses and muffled moans send my passion to a breaking point and I start removing my armor as we both gasp for air. Din assists, his movements wanton and hasty, and soon my Beskar is strewn about. He starts to remove his cuirass.

“Din - leave it. Keep it on,” I request, reaching to his hand and my eyes agape, scouring every surface of the shining Beskar knight above me. It will be much easier for him to continue on his mission of standing watch tonight - if he removes his armor, it will make it so much more difficult for him to leave (even though I badly want him to stay). Hells, I want as many moments with him as possible, but I understand his need to protect us. At least we can share this moment now.

I shift and shed the under suit over my shoulders and my breasts harden in the chill night air. 

“M-mesh’la,” Din stutters under his breath through the modulator, feeling his pulse jump at the site of my bare form unveiling in front of him in the warbling firelight. I slip the fabric over my hips and Din helps it from my legs, removing my boots. 

He quickly reassumes his dominant position over me and I slide his helm just enough to start kissing his soft lips again. The way his fevered breath pants between our kisses I can’t help but lift my hips and rub against his hardened, restrained passion - hells, it’s just as hard as all the Beskar he still has on, which turns me on even more. 

I undulate my pelvis again, earning a breathy groan from his throat and slide my hands from the nape of his neck and shift to release his desire from its cage, unbuckling and unbuttoning with nimble fingers. His cuirass heaves rapidly above me and he mutters some Mando’a under his breath as my hand grasps his gender. 

My gods, he is handsome (and well-endowed) - I haven’t yet held him in my hand, until now. **_That_ ** _fits inside of me?_

“Mesh’la,” he huskily whimpers and shudders as I delicately trace a couple fingertips over his tip. His heart falters.

His reaction to my touch has me _more_ than ready for him. I _need_ him inside me. I shift upward and part my legs for him in invitation. 

His dark glass stares at my face, as he guzzles the beauty before him. He reaches down to my lower abdomen with his gloved hand splayed just above my pulsing bud. I nod and he positions himself at my entrance and with a single swift thrust, he enters completely. It’s painful and I yelp.

“Ni ceta, ni ceta,” he abruptly apologizes and halts his movements, bringing his hand to caress my face. 

“No, it’s ok. Please, keep going,” I pant, my breath condensing on his visor. The pain quickly subsides and I need him to start again. _I need him to make love to me._ I roll my hips to encourage. “Please,” I purr under his helm, and with that, he begins a gentle, methodic rhythm. The slick of our passion soon spreads more evenly, allowing him to build to an excruciatingly pleasurable pace. His thigh armor uncomfortably digs a little into my legs, but not enough to keep me from reaching peak arousal. His thrusts grow even harder and choppier, and I soon feel my tension release in a hot, tingling rush. The tightening and release of extra slick over his length sends him over the edge, and with a few uneven, deep pumps of his hips, his passion spurts deep within me as I come down from my high.

He collapses against me, trying to keep from crushing me too badly. His rigid Beskar cuirass heaves against my pliant, hot breasts. I can feel his heart pounding wildly beneath. 

“Now this is what I call camping,” I say breathlessly with a mischievous smile. It earns an equally breathless chuckle from his helm and he shifts his helm to kiss the top of my head just before he shifts off me. 

“Thank you, mesh’la,” he grunts as he rolls onto his side, his seed now trickling out of me. He looks down to the used area, flickering light casting on my bare form. “I made you a mess,” he tsks his handiwork. My eyes shift down to his vantage point and then out the tear in the tent.

“Hopefully the monk wasn’t watching,” I snort, semi-serious. 

Din’s visor scans the vicinity. “No onlookers currently,” he reports deadpan, and then dark glass shifts to again meet my gaze. “And I checked just before we started,” he reassures with a laugh. He then turns and grabs a bag, producing a cloth, wetting it with some water leftover from dinner. He tidies himself up, slipping his length back into his trousers. He notices me watching him intently and cocks his helm.

“Want to get me too?” I shift on my side, quirk a brown, and spread my legs wide for him. 

He feels like a mudhorn just hit him in the chest again from the sight and invitation. He feels himself building back up again. _Kriff, this woman_ , he thinks. He gently maneuvers and tenderly swipes over and between my swollen petals. The attention to detail he provides only has me thirsting again for more, but I know I'm already taking too much of his guard duty time.

“Thank you, husband,” I smile, looking down at him now just staring at my displayed blossom.

He remembers to breathe and his visor shifts to meet my eyes again. He nods politely. 

“Thank you, mesh’la,” he hushes and lifts his helm to give me one more kiss. “I should get back to watching and you should be getting some rest,” he caresses my face, the smooth leather warm against my cheek.

I nod and he stoops back over into the bag, producing a blanket. I start getting dressed again and he sets the sheet beside me. 

“Good night my love,” I smile as he crouches out of the tent.

He turns and peeks back inside. “Sleep well, my kar’ta,” he replies, voice honey smooth and sweet. 

I toss and turn a little, finding it hard to sleep without Din’s warm heartbeat, but eventually the crackling of the fire and static chirping of insects have me drifting to sleep. 


	27. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XXVII: Gai Bal Manda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mudhorn Clan of Three’s bond grows even stronger.

"Karrrr!!" a happy, high-pitched voice draws me from my sleep. 

"Wuh?" I mumble as my eyes flutter open and I'm greeted with a dim silhouette of the little one right in my face, jovially patting my cheek. "Hey you," I giggle, reaching to poke him back.

“Come here you little womp rat,” Din’s smooth, modulated voice sounds from just outside the tent as he stoops inside to commandeer the small rogue intruder.

“G'morning,” I slur my words, face still heavy with slumber as I force myself to sit up and wipe the grogginess from my eyes.

“I wanted to let you sleep a little longer, but this one had different plans," Din grumbles playfully, as the green bean chirps loudly in his arms, making me smile. The fire outside is still going strong, casting it's golden, dancing light into the tent.

"We have a little while before we need to leave if you'd like some more rest,” he hushes, kneeling beside me as our son reaches out again, cooing. 

"Hey there, my kar'ta," I sing to the shadowed child, whose eyes still manage to twinkle like little stars. 

"Karrrtttahhh!" he loudly squeaks and then babbles trying to paw at me, but not quite reaching from Din's grip.

"I think he's saying, 'mother, it's time to wake up!'" I reach out and scruff his head, earning a flurry of giggles. "I bet you're hungry," I snicker as I tickle his small belly and he squirms in his daddy's arms.

"Actually, we already ate," Din shares, bouncing the little bugger. "But I packed some food in your medic bag if you'd like to eat along the way."

"Wow, thanks Din," I smile widely looking into his dark glass, enamored by his thoughtfulness. Then my brain catches onto his former statement. "Wait, you ate... _together_? He saw your face?" I ask somewhat astonished, eyebrows perking up. I haven't yet seen Din helmetless around the child, but surely he can show his face to his son, right?

He huffs a light laugh. "He's only seen glimpses...even though I've already considered him my son, I've been holding off on a full reveal until completing the traditional Mandalorian adoption vow, the _gai bal manda_ ," he shares, voice husky and warm, as his dark glass glimmers down to the green bundle in his arms. "And I had wanted to wait until after we'd married so we could recite together," he says with the warmest of smiles in his voice, dark glass now meeting my gaze. He has known since day one that I am the perfect mother for his foundling - there has never been a doubt in his mind. But now that I'm officially his _riduur_ , it will make the adoption that much more meaningful in his mind.

I stare at him in awe, and words don't quite escape my mouth as my brain still tries to comprehend the incredible honor he desires to fulfill with me. His culture is so very important to him - it's an intimate part of himself that he's willingly sharing with me, an outsider. I'm thoroughly humbled.

“It's rather silly, I know," he mistakenly reads my silence as disinterest, shaking his helm, feeling a little ridiculous for bringing it up now - in the earliest hours of the day.

"No, no. Din, it's not silly at all - it's The Way. And I am completely honored," I caress his helm's cheek in my palm. My gaze drops to the little one. "I'd love to officially adopt our little kar'ta, _together_ ," I say softly, lowering my hand to lovingly stroke the little one's head and making him purr. A grin grows on my face. "What about now? Why wait any longer?" My eyes jump to Din, face illuminated with excitement. His helm and shoulders perk up.

"I suppose now is as good as time as any, my mesh'la riduur," Din hushes and brings his forehead to mine and dark glass fondly gazes down to the child.

"I agree - it's time to make this official," I smile, feeling glee and weightlessness at what comes next. "Wait, do we have time?" I look into his visor.

"It's even shorter than the marriage vows," he smoothly replies, making me chuckle. "But he needs a name first."

"You're so right," I smile. "He is well overdue for a proper name." I look into the little one's eyes for inspiration, listening to the fire crackling outside in the brisk mountain air.

"I really like your idea from a couple days ago for a variation of 'Kar'ta'," Din blurts suddenly and quietly through his helm.

"Wait, 'Bean' isn't your favorite?" I feign disappointment and they both chuckle. I look at the little one, lowering my face to his. "How about 'Kar'?"

"Kar," Din almost whispers, feeling the short syllable pass his tongue.

"Krrrr," the child repeats, his large, intelligent eyes glistening.

"I think he has spoken," Din agrees with a nod. "Kar it is. A very good name." Pride swells in his chest.

Din shuffles over to sit near me on the sleeping pad and sets the little one before us. His ears twitch as his curious eyes shift between our heads. The flames illuminate Din's Beskar in a mysterious, ancient glow.

"Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad, Kar Kuiil Djarin," Din speaks clearly and proudly to his son, who watches in wonderment.

"Nee kar-tile guy sah-ahd, Kar Kuiil Djarin," I repeat his enunciation as best as my tongue can manage. I immediately recognize the middle name from brief stories Din had shared of the noble Ugnaught, which makes my chest bloom with reverence for the man I did not know, but who had selflessly given his life to help Din and our son. I'll forever be grateful to Kuiil and his ultimate sacrifice. 

"I know your name as my child, Kar Kuiil Djarin," Din repeats softly the translation in Basic. Tears well in my eyes.

Din removes his gloves, setting them down to the sleeping mat and reaches to hold the little mythosaur pendant that hangs from the child's neck between his bare fingertips. The little one grasps at his hand, gently feeling his father's skin.

I watch as Din gently withdraws his hand and brings both to his helmet. 

The Mandalorian's heart pounds against his sternum like a ritualistic, ancestral drum as he slowly lifts the barrier upward. The child's eyes impossibly widen and he softly coos as the helm slips free of his head.

And then it happens.

.

.

.

Their eyes meet for the _very_ first time. 

.

.

.

Tears uncontrollably brim in Din's eyes at the long-awaited, life-changing moment.

"H-hey kid," his husky, unmodulated voice falters.

"Kkkk," the little one quietly squeaks. Looking bewildered, he cautiously toddles forward to his father's lap, not taking his gaze from his father's face. 

Din tenderly picks him up, holding him at eye-level and they stare at each other, face-to-face just centimeters apart, for the first time. For the first time they _truly_ see each other. 

Kar peers widely, barely blinking, in what looks like shock.

"It's ok. It's me," Din's raw voice reassures through trembling lips as his pulse races from his vulnerable state and the adopted son before him. He notices the child studying his beard. "Yes, I have more facial hair than your mother, even if it's patchy," he teases through tears, making me chuckle through my own.

"Oooooo," the little one softly coos and reaches out to the new, scruffy face displayed before him. He gently wipes the trails of wet trickling over Din's cheeks. Little clawed hands explore almost every centimeter of his face, making sure he's real and earning a warm smile from the bounty hunter.

I can feel Kar's energy, gleeful and a bit overwhelmed, but content and immensely happy. I can't help but feel the same.

Din's saccharine tears only continue and he sharply inhales from the intimate moment. _Our son, our ad'ika, our Kar'ta_ , he thinks to himself, cherishing the pivotal moment.

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Kar," Din sniffles lightly. "I love you, Kar. We love you," he hushes, voice raw with emotion.

I lean in and press my cheek against Din's and our son hugs our faces, pressing his soft green forehead between ours. 

‐----------------

Din's heart suddenly feels complete, which he had never imagined possible after all the profound damage it had taken over years of bounty hunting and immeasurable losses he's suffered. 

A clan of his own had never seemed in the cards for him. Not with the life he'd led as the Tribe's beroya (bounty hunter and provider). But the woman currently beside him - his riduur - and the child before him - his ad'ika - have saved him, healed him, and exposed parts of himself he hadn't known had existed. Parts that are soft, gentle, and nurturing - parts that are protective, passionate, and soulful. They've shown him unconditional love and kindness - he still doesn't feel deserving or worthy and finds it near impossible he ever will. But without a doubt he knows that what he has found is rare and he will never let us go. Not while his body still draws breath. We are his family - his clan. 

The Mudhorn Clan of Three.

‐----------------

We shift from the embrace and Din sets Kar to the ground. He wipes the happy tears from his face and looks through the tent to the sky.

"We should get going. Dawn is fast approaching," he clears his throat and then replaces his gloves. 

I quickly steal a sweet kiss before he slips on his helm and I slip on mine. He grabs Kar in his arms and I snatch my medic bag.

"Our child," I say softly, voice now modulated by the helmet, and smile to the little one as we slip out of the tent. "We are truly the Mudhorn Clan of Three now."

Din chuckles at how much our minds think alike as he bends to snuff out the fire with the displaced earth from making the firepit in the first place.

"I still need to tell you how I earned my signet," he grunts, lifting himself up with the extra weight of his son in his arms.

"Your signet?" I cock my helm as he steps closer.

"The mudhorn," he exhales, prodding a couple fingers at my shoulder armor where the new emblem proudly sits.

"Please share!" I exclaim loudly, the vocoder adding an electronic overtone to my shrill voice. I've been meaning to ask for ages and now I'm dying to know the story.

As we make our way through the underbrush to the waterfall, Din shares the harrowing tale of how he and the child had met, the infuriating discovery of Jawas pilfering the Crest, his painfully unsuccessful attempt to infiltrate their sandcrawler (he's still quite riled about this part), and then the brutal quest for the mudhorn egg to regain the stolen ship parts. 

Din very likely would have died if not for the child. Kar had truly saved his life. His gift is incredible and so strong and I can’t help but think that the monk's training can only help him become even stronger and more focused.

As I lift my helm to eat the last bite of my protein bar that Din had graciously packed for me and sip some water, the gentle roaring of a waterfall comes into earshot. _I wonder if we're early?_ I think to myself.

"Let's get started," a familiar voice demands and the monk suddenly appears from branches above, landing in front of us.

.

.

.

And so our training begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried adding Kuiil as the Child's middle name. Kuiil was done so dirty. So was IG-11. 
> 
> But wow, thank you so much for reading my lame writing <3 There are so many other much, much better written stories out there!!!
> 
> Also, I suck at Mando'a - Din is being patient.


	28. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XXVIII: Nightsister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn more about the Force and Halarys. 
> 
> Warnings: NSFW, 18+ (at end). They’re newlyweds...

"The first lesson is meditation. Through this method, you will learn to calmly connect with the Force, to feel the other life forms linked to you and to one another, and to fully appreciate the delicate strength which flows through and amongst us," the nameless Togruta poetically recites to Kar and me, as though it's a sacred doctrine. 

Din stands around five meters away, stoic, silent, and alert, his visor trained on us and our every movement. 

The monk motions Kar and me to sit crossed legged on a large, flat-topped rock next to the small waterfall's stream. I remove my helm to feel more connected with my surroundings. However, green bean is quickly distracted by some large emerald frogs hiding in the ferns, managing to catch and snarf one whole before our teacher can redirect his very short attention-span. I shake my head, chuckling at his antics, but also semi-horrified that he could have choked. 

I can feel her energy communicate with him what his task should be. She's obviously dealt with young ones before, given her immense level of patience (much more than she'd demonstrated last evening). I'm relieved that she's quite the gentle soul when it comes to the kid as I can feel the innate fondness she carries for him.

I watch the little one re-focus his attention to her as she kneels down closer to his level. She lowers her hood, revealing great, tall montrals and lekku, ornately striped blue and white. She is likely around Din’s age, judging by how developed these are.

She peers into the child’s dark eyes and without words, through a telepathic connection, communicates to him to join my side. In a few moments, he toddles over to the rock. She lifts him up and he politely joins my side, sitting down (his stubby legs aren't quite long enough to cross).

"Good, little Padawan," the monk affectionately nods her head.

"His name is Kar," Din roughly chimes in from his nearby vantage point. He has his sound amplifier tuned into our conversation.

"So _now_ he has a name?" she asks rhetorically, shooting him a sideways glance. 

Din just grunts and leans against the tree, trying not to fall asleep from staying up all night. He’s thankful for her assistance, but can’t help but still feel on edge after seeing how dangerous the snippy woman can be.

The Togruta's blue eyes peer into Kar's dark ones and I can feel her demonstrating that his task should be relaxing and focusing on the energy around him. Even though I've instinctively done so with him before, it's amazing to watch and feel another, much more experienced user communicate through this method. Kar responds well to it.

“You should be focusing too, Nightsister,” she dryly reprimands from the corner of her eye, using the relic of a nickname she’s decided for me. I close my eyes and return to focus on the sound of the cascading water and the forest's static, calm energy. I try to reach out to it, to embrace it.

But then I hear Kar gently coo next to me - his voice sounds oddly closer than before. A few moments pass and I can't resist but crack an eyelid to see his progress.

.

.

.

 _He's levitating beside me!!_

.

.

.

He hovers around half a meter from the stone.

"What the?" I half-croak, my inner peace broken by the bizarre sight as my eyes grow to the size of swamp melons. 

Instinctively, Din steps toward us a couple times before he halts, keeping his visor honed-in his son. His heart thumps hard, scared Kar might fall.

"He's reached peak meditation in record time for someone his maturity level," the Togruta announces in reassurance - she sounds genuinely impressed. "This is good."

 _I knew he could levitate!_ I tell myself, thinking of all the times he had somehow let himself down from the upper deck in the Crest.

I watch wide-eyed, feeling Kar’s energy, calm, consistent, and strong like a precise, idling engine beside me. The monk closes her eyes, seemingly to monitor his progress. All of a sudden Kar’s eyes flick open and he gradually lowers himself to the rock. 

He looks to be on a mission and slides down from the stone to the mossy terra. 

“What are you up to?” I crane my neck to watch his trajectory, which aims away from the stream.

“Bah,” he responds and toddles over to Din.

“Hey Kar,” Din greets the little one as the monk turns her attention to me.

She leans in toward me as I watch Din pick up the babbling little one.

“I sense both you and the child harbor dark energy,” she almost whispers. My blood stills for a moment at her sudden, blunt assessment. 

“Is that bad?” I ask, genuinely concerned, but not surprised - I had figured I possessed some darkness and the child too. My gaze shifts from my family to her sharp eyes. 

She inhales, looking past me to the waterfall, and lets out a contemplative sigh.

“Not necessarily," she almost kindly offers, turning her eyes back to me. "But you must not give into the temptation of anger or hatred for fueling your channeling of the Force. Try staying objective and clear in intention which leans toward the lighter side. Using strong emotion to drive your harnessing of the Force can lead you down a dark path. Nightsister, you are at greatest risk of this,” she warns.

“What does that mean?” I eye her, brow furrowed partially due to her judging me by my appearance and partly because of worry.

“Your ancestors dabbled in dark magick, which naturally draws its powers from the dark side of the Force. It’s a temptation innate to your kind,” she elaborates.

I had known I'm distantly related to the fabled Witches of Dathomir, but I hadn’t exactly known how their mysterious powers were obtained. I hadn't given it much thought. To me, they were merely old, spooky bedtime stories of raising the dead and various voodoo spells my mother had used to tell me as a girl, passed down from her grandmother.

The monk grasps my hand and my attention snaps back to her. She looks almost empathetic.

“There is more light than dark in you. No one is completely light - not even the greatest Jedi Master,” she then looks down to the ground in regretful reminiscence.

“I’ll just try to keep it balanced then,” I huff, trying not to think too much about my supposed predisposition. 

"Your youngling...Kar...he looks up to you. Your energy and his are intertwined. It is important for both of you that you keep your balance leaning toward the light side," she urges. "You must resist temptation to use the Force out of malice or for personal gain or power, Nightsister."

 _No pressure…_ I meekly nod, understanding the gravity of what she's saying. My actions will directly impact the kind of person Kar will become - more so than the average parent's. I have to be strong for both of us. 

"Alright, enough distractions. Let us continue with the lesson," she rumbles, switching gears and looking to Din holding the little one.

‐----------------

The monk works closely with our son, trying to coax him into peak meditation form again, but his attention span wanes and he instead starts levitating her long lekku, eliciting chuckles even from the gruff, experienced Force-user herself. 

I don't quite reach "levitation-level", but I achieve the point of feeling energies of other forest beings in my mind's eye - similar to when Kar's mother's spirit had touched me and when I had tragically connected with the drendrel. There are tiqua, birds, and even ancient trees I commune with on a spiritual level - it feels weightless, almost like a dim, soft dream where vision is muted and blurred to the point where emotions are the strongest sense.

"Good job, Nightsister," she says with a nod, breaking me from my concentration. "You're not bad for a beginner." 

Finally the lesson is done, after what seems like hours of meditation (or rather attempted meditation - she had given up on our son a while ago when he had repeatedly tried to grab her lightsaber).

"We are done for today. Meet me here again tomorrow at dawn," she dismisses us, pulling back over her hood. She then effortlessly leaps over the stream, disappearing into the thick underbrush.

"Well that was actually enlightening," I turn to Din, surprised sitting on a rock for hours would be helpful in any way. I'm still a bit impatient to jump straight into the good stuff, but I also appreciate the foundational knowledge.

"This little one found it tiresome," Din says softly, Kar resting fast asleep in his arms, propped against the soft fabric of his upper chest.

"He was up early this morning," I stroke the sleeping one's ear.

We continue back toward our campsite.

"So, Nightsister?" Din queries, helm cocked as dark glass gleams in my direction. He had heard the monk mention it last night, but it slipped his mind until the monk mentioned it again today.

I huff amusedly, almost wondering why he hasn’t asked about my atypical skin and eye coloration sooner. I look into his dark glass and smile.

“My great-great grandmother hailed from Dathomir - the women there are called Nightsisters. Apparently they are very pale like me, but with many more tattoos,” I almost chuckle. “I’m around ninety-five percent human, but this complexion and eye color are rather dominant characteristics it seems," I hold out my hand, studying the almost chalky tone.

Din is silent, contemplative. _Is the fact I’m not completely human disturb him in some way?_

“Are you ok?” I try to study his helm for any tell. 

“Yes, cyar’ika. It's just that _that_ explains your domineering character,” he nearly chuckles. "Dathomir is a matriarchal society." He has heard stories of their culture.

"Oh yeah?" I shoot him a wicked grin before replacing my helmet, tired of carrying it.

"Hmmmmm," Din muses out loud, almost like a low, defiant growl.

"Do I need to put you in your place?" I shift my visor to his helm.

"If that place is between your thighs, then yes," he turns his gaze to me, unabashed.

I gasp from his naughty response, quickly deciding such a statement should not go unpunished. I smack his firm rear and trying to keep a straight face (even though it's hidden by my visor), but the judgmental dark glass now staring at me only has me giggling.

"You call that a hit?" he teases, continuing walking forward as his cape shimmies with each step.

"Are you asking for my full wrath?" my visor dips down to watch his full backside shift beneath the fabric of his pants.

"I wouldn't dare," he chuckles. "You could likely obliterate me with the Force."

"Now that would be dark side energy. I need to stay away from that," I shake my head, chuckling.

We make our way back and set Kar down in his pod for a nap. It's still not even midday, judging by the sun's angle from what I can see through the slit in the tent, but I know Din must be exhausted from staying up all night on watch.

"You should get some rest too," I run my hand over the fabric covering his shoulder as he closes the bassinet, securing its precious cargo.

"Perhaps you can help me with that, Hal'ika," he turns his head, then his entire body. Suddenly he pulls me into his arms and on top of him onto the sleeping mat.

"Ooof," I grunt, my diaphragm landing awkwardly on the edge of his cuirass.

"Ni ceta," Din releases his grip and moves to sit us both up, with me in his lap.

"I'm fine," I giggle. "You just take my breath away," I chortle making the cheesy joke, removing my medic bag, then my helm. He follows suit, next removing his. 

He looks into my eyes, still as stone. 

"You most definitely take mine away, Hal’ika," he hushes, eyes now trailing down toward my lips. He leans in and our lips touch, featherlight and chaste at first, but soon crescendoing into a fervent rigor as our mouths crash into one another, hot and heavy like a turbulent, sputtering lava flow greedily consuming everything in its path.

Din breaks away after a few minutes, gasping for breath. I breathe heavily as well, chuckling at how very derpy his face has grown.

"There you go again, cyar'ika," he pants, chestplate rapidly rolling with each fevered breath and forehead now beaded with sweat droplets.

"I can do more than take your breath away," I grin seductively, pushing him backward with an index finger in the center, hexagonal design of his cuirass and shift to straddle him.

As he lays recumbent, his dark, brown eyes strain downward, carefully studying as my nimble fingers detach his leather bandolier, chestplate and then work down to his tassets and cuisses, gently setting them beside the mat. 

I can feel the heat radiating from him like sand in the heat of the day. He’s so warm, it’s almost unbearable.

“M-mesh’la,” he stutters, face drunken with enamored bliss as my hips settle back over his.

My hands reach to the hem of his layered undershirt, exposing just the lower portion of his abdomen and iliac crests. I shift downward and lean to place the most gentle of kisses along his strong pelvic muscles.

He gasps, his lungs seizing and almost choking from the gentle glancing of lips on his sensitive skin. He wonders how such a soft touch can ignite such a powerful passion within him. 

My lips work their way to the thick, dark hair that trails to the lip of his pants, which now acts as an unwanted barrier.

My hands do their work, quickly unbuckling his ammunition belt, splaying it open, and then unbuttoning his pants. His aching length slips free of its confines and I cannot resist but stare for a few moments.

“Riduur,” he huskily moans in a pleading tone. My eyes glance up to his handsome, lovesick face, then to his strong heaving chest and back down to his throbbing, exposed gender.

I slowly lower my lips, kissing the sensitive tip which makes Din shudder in tormentous ecstasy. His arousal leaks, offering lubrication for what I have planned next, but it won’t be enough, so I grab my medic bag and locate the small bottle of lotion I had stolen from the hotel.

Repositioning, I sit myself on his muscled thighs, pinning his legs beneath me. With a dollop of lotion, I tenderly grab his length in my hands, earning a hitched breath from the bounty hunter, and spread the slick around, languidly stroking from base to tip. His stomach muscles tense and twitch, and his legs lose their battle of remaining still beneath me. I then add a second hand, paying delicate attention to the swollen, tender tip, which only stirs the pleasurable pressure building in my lower abdomen. 

His hands desperately grasp fistfuls of his cape and his hips buck, lifting me upward with his uncontrollable reaction as he sharply mutters what I assume to be filthy Mando’a phrases. His coil is tightening to the breaking point as my hand slips effortlessly and relentlessly past his tip’s ridge, over and over and over again. He cannot hold still as he feels his cup quickly filling to the brim.

With a few more strong strokes, he finds release, strong and all-consuming as my skilled hands work him through it, so unlike the times he had hastily pleasured himself alone on the Crest - and this, with me, is much, much better. 

His hot, sticky seed is mostly captured by my hands.

“Mesh’la,” he rasps, gulping for air, coming down from his incredible high. I’m incredibly turned on, but can hold my lust for later.

“Cyar’ika,” I hush as I reach past him to locate a fresh cloth, but my hands are far too much of a mess.

He notices and grabs a fresh one for me, helping wipe his passion from my palms and fingers. 

“That was…,” he mumbles, lungs still heaving.

“Naughty?” I finish his sentence, earning a huff of amusement as I wet the cloth with a water bottle and begin to wipe the residual from my hands.

“Yes. Among many other things,” his brain fails to think clearly after the special attention. He lowers himself back on the sleeping pad.

“Well,” I quirk a brow as I kneel down to clean his member, “speaking of ‘other things’, when was the last time you had your...parts...examined for growths or lumps?” I nod my head to his exposed nether regions. I can’t help but worry for his health.

“Uhhhh...never?” he raises his head, cocking it to the side in curiosity.

“Do you mind if I feel? It’s important to check periodically, especially as you get older,” I say, my voice automatically drifting into my physician-tone.

“Are you calling me old?” he quirks a brow in playful accusation.

“Older than me,” I tease back. 

“Will it hurt?” he inquires, tone more serious as his eyes lock onto mine.

“No, not at all. I’ll be gentle,” I reassure, rubbing his hip.

“Fine,” he says nonchalantly, lowering his head back to the sleeping mat, staring up at the tent as he feels my delicate fingers take up the sensitive lower fruit. He can’t help but tense.

“You ok?” I look up toward his face and his eyes meet mine.

“Only you could get away with such a devious task, ner Mesh’la,” he chuckles, resting a vambrace to his forehead, trying to distract himself from my touches to his intimate areas.

I proceed to feel around starting with one and then the other - thankfully nothing seems out of place or odd, but his length seems to be enjoying the attention.

“Well, that didn’t take long,” I laugh at his vigorous libido. 

“Can you blame him?” he says almost pathetically, lifting his head to better look at me as I finish my examination.

“Everything looks good,” I report, patting his upper thigh. And with that, Din reaches and pulls me atop his chest and into another kissing session.

I reluctantly pull away after a few steamy minutes.

“Din, you should really get some rest,” I look into his passionate, yet exhausted eyes.

“I find this quiet relaxing,” he reaches up for another kiss.

“You should sleep,” I order in my doctor-voice. His dark brown, puppy-eyes beg for more attention, but his rational brain finally kicks in.

“You’re right mesh’la,” he begrudgingly acknowledges. He’s running on fumes and hormones at this point.

“I’d love to take a nap with you though,” I add, earning a large, warm grin from his face. 

He shifts and pulls up his pants, resecuring the button and motioning me to snuggle into his side. His chest strongly and rhythmically thrums and slows as he calms down from our earlier activities. 

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,” Din lovingly whispers softly into my hair before he repositions his helmet.

“I love you too,” I hush back.

We peacefully fall asleep to the leaves rustling and birds warbling in the late morning mountain breeze.

\------------------

The saga will continue!

\------------------

**Bonus:**

Armor/Accessory vocab used in the series -> based off of Medieval armor, not necessarily Mandalorian/Mando'a terminology ❤ 


	29. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XXIX: A Glimpse into The Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halarys and the little one get some mother-son time and dabble with the Force.

"Baaoooooo," a soft, muffled voice sounds, waking me from my nap. 

"Hmmmm?" I sleepily hum in response as my eyes flutter open and adjust to the light.

"Goooooooo."

The pram, the source of the small noises, hovers impatiently in the tent corner. Given the growing shadows cast on the tent, it appears as though it's late afternoon. I slowly and carefully move from my husband's chest, trying not to wake him from our nap. 

"Hal'ika," Din huskily murmurs, arms curling around my torso and pulling me snug against intoxicatingly warm, thumpy chest. I can't resist but fall back into his magnetic, undeniable pull.

"Krrrrrrrrrrrrr!!" the floating pod announces from the corner of the tent.

"'Krrrr' wants out of his containment cell," I snicker into the circuitry-entwined fabric of his undershirt.

"Din wants inside of you," the Mandalorian shares his dirty desire, feeling his arousal steadily blossoming while greedy fingers trace over my backside. It earns him a playful, reprimanding smack on his powerful chest. He just pulls me in tighter, my Beskar breasts digging into his ribs, but he doesn't mind at all. I chuckle, running my hands under his shirt, over his silky skin. 

_Damn he's toned…_ my mind quickly wanders.

"Baaaahhhh!" the bassinet protests, demanding our attention.

"Ok kid, we hear ya," Din affectionately grumbles and releases me from his ravenous grip. His visor peers as I slip away and swing on my medic bag. He taps the control on his vambrace, quickly opening the little one's sleeping quarters. 

"You got him?" he urges, helmet nodding at the bassinet.

Great green ears and large dark eyes appear and the child moves to let himself down before I can blink.

"Definitely," I say to Din as I bend to snatch up Kar before he can escape from the tent.

"Let's let your father sleep some more. How about a picnic? Or are you still full from that frog?" I snicker, bouncing his weight in my arms.

"Gaaaah!" he peeps, dark eyes pleading at me.

"You're hungry?!" I proclaim in astonishment, eyes wide. "Well picnic it is!" I turn and shuffle through the supply bag next to our sleeping pad for some protein bars and trail mix, and snag a water bottle from his pod, placing them into my satchel.

Din stares, straining his head a little to watch me, and drinking up my curves in the diffuse, natural lighting that manages to seep through the tent fabric. 

"Mesh'la," he mutters, visor studying my profile. He still sometimes cannot believe our life together is real. But the honey-sweet twinge in his veins that pulses even more strongly at my sight reassures him that this is, in fact, reality.

I sense his gaze over my shoulder, making me grin and feel silken at my core. _I can only hope I make him feel just as good._

"Alright, let's let daddy rest." The little one's eyes glisten as we turn and crouch through the opening to exit the tent.

"Stay safe, ner cyar'ika bal ad'ika," his handsome, gravelly voice beckons us farewell as he comfily lays his gloved hands over his chest and rests his head to continue his nap. 

I smile at his use of Mando'a as I turn back to face him, peeking through the canvas.

"We'll stay nearby, and I still have a blaster in my bag just in case," I pat the fabric with my freehand. 

Din nods his approval, feeling pride beneath his ribs that his riduur is thinking like a Mandalorian, regardless if it's intentional.

"Sleep well, my cyar'ika," I speak softly to my Mandalorian.

"Thank you, ner riduur," he hushes back, wishing he could join us, but knowing he needs rest to effectively stand guard tonight, to protect his sleeping family from whatever may lurk in the dark woods. 

_Riduur_ , I repeat in my head which makes my eyes twinkle at the very intimate meaning. A sweet smile forms on my lips as I take one more look at my Beskar man, savoring his handsome sight. 

With the little one in my arms, I turn and walk over the moss-adorned ground, which softens each step like a cushion, and locate a good picnic area just on the periphery of our campsite. I seat myself on a sturdy area of a partially decaying fallen log and prop Kar in my lap.

"Food then meditation?" I cock my head and smile at the great big eyes, twinkling in the forest-filtered sunlit.

"Bah," he responds plainly.

"I know, it's not too exciting, but I think we need to practice more," I explain to his small green face. He studies me for a couple moments and I use my thoughts to further interpret on a level he seems to understand better than words at this time.

"Uuhhhhhh," he almost reluctantly coos. _I’m sure he’d rather be exploring the forest than Force lessons after a meal._

"Alright, let's do lunch." I turn and produce the goodies from my medic bag. “Maybe after meditation we can play.” I stick my tongue out at him and cross my eyes, which makes him giggle. He then studies as I open the nutrition bar.

I feed him small bites of the package thinking he probably won't choke given he quite literally swallows frogs whole. 

"You have quite the appetite," I tease as he finishes his last bite of the bar, which he demolishes in about a minute.

I finish my own meal replacement and share sips with him from the water bottle. He has decent open-cup drinking skills which tells me he's about as developed as an 18-month old human child in this regard. I hadn't observed him drinking many fluids without a straw to be honest. 

Kar then slips from my lap and toddles off to search for what I assume to be some sort of trouble.

"Hey you, we need to continue our training," I chuckle as he squeaks in playful excitement, toddling off faster to hide behind a tall, bushy fern.

"Hmmmm, I wonder where Kar went?!" I say exaggeratedly, earning little, stifled giggles.

I feign being unable to see where he went, and look around the fallen tree we had used as a seat and then behind a nearby boulder.

"Where is Kar?!" I look underneath some big, fallen leaves and then up in the trees. 

More muffled laughter comes from the fern that fails to hide his great big ears. Although, they almost blend in.

"Oh where, oh where could Kar be?" I say dramatically with a pout, my hand on my cheeks as I glance around.

"Boooooo!" he jumps from behind the fronds. 

_I bet Auntie Cara or Greef taught him this game._

"Aaaaaahhhhh! You scared me!" I proclaim, then roll my eyes into the back of my head, falling over on the ground like I’ve fainted. I stay still, trying damn hard not to laugh.

He toddles over and coos, checking on me. I hear him approaching my head and then feel his worried energy.

I slowly open my eyes and blow a raspberry at his face, changing his frown into a giggle in an instant. I quickly scoop him up before he can go hiding again.

"Alright Kar, time for some more Force practice," I poke his tiny nose and he squeaks with laughter.

I move us back to the open moss and set the little one down, using my feelings to communicate with him to meditate.

Kar just giggles, staring up at me.

"We have to keep on top of the lessons, little...paddywon," I snicker, knowing I probably butchered the term the monk had used earlier.

I focus to tame my own energy and redirect my attention to the little learner. His happy, excited aura finally calms and matches mine - focused and centered.

"Good job," I smile, also speaking encouragement with my energy, trying to mimic techniques used by the Force-adept Togruta.

His little eyes slowly close and I sense him gently fall into pace with the humming rhythm of the life in the forest surrounding us. I feel the energy surge, making my vellus hairs stand-on end. It's almost eerie.

"Very good," an unfamiliar male voice suddenly sounds from behind me.

I turn.

.

.

.

A _translucent_ , cloaked figure stands.

.

.

.

"What the?" I instinctively reach for my blaster, not taking my eyes from the unsolicited guest.

"He will become even stronger in time," the man gestures, beard visible from the hood.

"Who are you?" I aim the blaster, not entirely sure it will do much good. I can feel his energy - it’s beneficent, kind. But my eyes are showing something supernatural, something unexplained and my maternal instinct is to be on high-alert.

"I am part of the Force, just as you both are," the man's voice reassures and he lifts his hood to reveal a middle-aged human male.

"What do you want?" I scrunch my eyebrows with skepticism, keeping my weapon aimed.

My eyes are then drawn to movement behind him. A familiar face appears and my arm lowers the blaster away in disbelief. She stands no higher than my hips and possesses great ears, like the child, but much larger. I feel her energy, the same energy as just before she had died, the same energy as in the ruins.

_Kar's mother._

Her great dark eyes smile at me as her glowing, translucent figure walks past, then moves to greet her son.

I turn and watch Kar reach to his mother's spirit. Her hand attempts to caress his small face. A momentarily saccharin-then-bittersweet sentiment weighs heavy on my stunned soul.

"She is pleased with how well you and the Mandalorian have taken care of him," the man narrates in a kind tone. I crack a half-smile, still on-edge with the unworldly, yet incredible scenario occurring around me.

I cannot speak. I feel my lungs struggle to draw breath as I watch his true mother tenderly interact with her child. Her immeasurably loving energy is like an infinitely warm, velvet cloak. I watch them communicate and Kar reaches out to her, desperate to physically _feel_ her, but he cannot. His hand slips through. He cries a little and she consoles him by humming a gentle, vaguely familiar tune. He calms and coos at his mother.

A few minutes pass as I take in the surreal scene.

"May the Force be with you both, Halarys and Kar," the man nods, breaking my trance.

I turn to face him and in a blink, he vanishes. I swivel my head back to Kar, and his mother has disappeared as well.

This time, I feel like I'm going to actually faint. There is so much more about the Force I do not know... _and after-death visitations? I guess I shouldn't be surprised; afterall, the Force can do just about anything._

I look at my adopted son, who longingly stares up at the sky. I know he misses her, his mother - I can feel it. I gather him to my breast and kiss his soft head.

"We still have a lot to learn, my sweet Kar."


	30. The Heart of A Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XXX: Ner Yaim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din, Halarys, and their son have some bonding time.
> 
> Warnings: Angst-adjacent? Fluff, semi-smut (NSFW, but not explicit) at end. Mediocre writing.

"How was your picnic?" Din's honey-thick tone suddenly sounds over my shoulder, slightly surprising me as Kar and I idly draw shapes with sticks in the soft mossy forest terra to pass the time. I shift my head to watch as he gently approaches, cape swaying and worn leather boots softly padding over the forest floor, leaving momentary imprints in the green, cushiony fauna.

"You're awake." I stand up and turn to face his tall figure, unable to help the warm half-smile that appears on my lips at his presence, but it's also accompanied by an involuntary blank stare directed at the chiseled cheek of his helmet which glints in the dim, late-evening forest light. 

_I'm still suspended in disbelief of what Kar and I had experienced a couple hours earlier. I feel my head is reeling for an explanation, any way to comprehend - I can't shake it and my face can't quite hide it._

"What's wrong, riduur?" Din's silky tone changes to that of rugged concern, catching onto my uneasy expression as his helm subtly tilts. _He knows me so well already._

"Nothing's wrong," I reassure, reaching out to rub his upper arm below the pauldron. _Nothing is wrong, really; it's more that the visitation from the ghosts, or spirits, or apparitions - whatever one might call them - had been...unexpected, unsettling...viewpoint on life-after-death altering? I can't quite explain it, or how I feel about it._ The gears in my head continue to grind, trying to analyze my feelings and process the Force's connection, and thus my and the child's connection, to what had appeared to be the afterlife, or some semblance to such. 

"You can tell me, cyar'ika," Din's voice gently implores, which momentarily pulls me from my inner thoughts. 

He knows something unnerving has taken root. His cuirass rises and falls gently, rhythmically, predictably - its angles catching and reflecting some of the soft foliage-filtered evening light. 

I tighten my lips, thinking for a few moments as my eyes move from his chest to aimlessly study the numerous delicate, sunset-lit leaves on the ferns behind him, as if they'd somehow offer a credible explanation to the strange and bittersweet happening. 

_Will he think I'm crazy?_ I wouldn't blame him.

Din shifts a little closer and I instinctively look into his dark glimmering glass, imagining the rich brown, kind, and empathetic eyes beneath. 

"Hal'ika, if you want to talk about it...I'm here to listen," his helm moves ever-so-gently with his words. I gaze into his visor, seeing a reflection of my own worried eyes. 

"Kar and I -," I begin my thought, then clear the shaky rasp from my throat, "when we had been meditating a couple hours ago, we saw...well...it's hard to explain," my voice remains a little uneven and I look to the ground to collect my thoughts, trying to navigate my words in order to not to sound like a raving lunatic. I take a breath. 

_I don't even understand what I had seen, so how can I explain?_

Din steps closer, very concerned but also partly intrigued, and tenderly places a kind, reaffirming glove on my shoulder, its weight tethering my fluttering, anxious thoughts into place. 

I peer into his dark glass and continue, "We saw a man's, a man's spirit...he was translucent...he wore a hooded robe." My eyes shift to the moss-carpeted earth. "I imagine he was a Jedi. He was seemingly part of the Force. Well, he said as much. And then…," I look back to his visor. "Kar's mother visited. It must sound unbelievable, I know." My eyes shift back down, staring at the green forest floor in near disbelief of the words slipping past my own lips. 

"Cyar'ika, did they try to harm you or Kar?" Din asks, his leather glove reflexively tensing upon my shoulder as anxiety now burgeons in his heart.

I shake my head. "No. No, the entities...or whatever they were, were kind and nurturing - I could sense that much." I then glance at Kar, who's still happily drawing in the moss.

Din's hand relaxes, but he falls silent and statuesque for a few beats, seemingly in consideration of my fantastical tale.

"That's a new...ability," his smooth, modulated voice breaks the silence. "Perhaps something to ask the monk tomorrow," he offers, stance softening. "Are you ok?" he reaches his other hand to my free shoulder, both hands solidly and firmly anchoring me down. My eyes meet his visor as my lips crack a half smile, feeling an ounce of the worried pressure escape my chest from his support.

"Yes, I'm fine...just a little unnerved about possibly conversing with deceased Jedi," I raise my eyebrows, peering directly where his eyes would lay beneath his helm.

"As anyone would be," he huffs amusedly. "Come here, cyar'ika," he pulls me into his broad chest and holds me tight, my ear comfortably nestling upon his upper cuirass. 

The uncomfortable tension in my breast further melts away as I focus on the sound and feel of his strong, sturdy pulse thudding steadily beneath the Beskar chestpiece. My fingertips search absentmindedly and trace the recessed, angled design in its center, directly over his beating heart. His armor had never done much to hide his kar'ta from me. It is far too strong and caring to be sealed away or contained completely behind Beskar.

"Karrrr," a little voice bleats at our feet, causing us to look down in unison.

"Hey there, Kar, ner ad'ika," Din lovingly murmurs to his son. 

I'm instantly reminded of the little one's experience - how he must be processing the brief, much too short reunion. _He seems to be accepting it better than me._

"He misses his mother, his true mother," I look down at the little one. "The way he lit up when he saw her form...and then she just vanished...Din...it was absolutely heartbreaking," I suddenly feel guilt all over again for my inability to save her almost two years ago. I feel relentlessly inadequate and unworthy to be his new mother, my knees weaken as my gut twists. Tears well, stinging my eyes with insecurity and uncertainty, uncertainty about Kar ever seeing me as a mother-figure, his mother-figure. _Am I just a placeholder, a second-rate parent-like figure?_

Din releases me, dipping down then bringing Kar to our level. The little one softly coos, large dark eyes affectionately studying my face. He reaches for me with tiny, outstretched claws.

"I’m sure he misses his mother...but I know he also loves his new _buir_ , his new mother, very much," Din says, voice husky, saccharine, and sincere.

My eyes glisten with salty, melancholy tears as I soak up my son’s sweet, loving touch, his little fingers searching across my cheeks. He burbles gently, sensing my sorrow and guilt. 

Perhaps he does love me as a _mother_ , his _new_ mother - I can only do my best to unconditionally give him all the love I have to give. I never want him to feel unwanted or alone. And I’m completely terrified at times that this little being relies so much on Din and I. He relies on us for safety, food, shelter, guidance, and love - for _everything_. It takes my breath away that such a small, sweet babe is in our care. He means the world - no, the galaxy and beyond - to Din and I, and I think he can sense that - at least I hope he can. 

"We both love you, Hal'ika," my husband nearly whispers, leaning in and pressing his helmet's forehead to mine. The kind energy rejuvenates and strengthens my weary soul.

Din holds us all close for a few moments, cherishing his _aliit_ as the nighttime creatures and insects of the forest start singing their well-practiced chorus.

Then, I hear Kar's stomach grumble loudly.

"Are you hungry again?" I chuckle, wiping remnant tears. 

"Gah," he responds, eyes shifting between Din and me.

"I could use a meal too," Din bounces the kid in his arms, eliciting a shrill giggle from the little womp rat.

"Well, dinner it is," I warmly smile, breaking away to head back for the tent supplies. "Trail mix and protein bars?" I ask over my shoulder.

"I could catch us some fish from the stream or shoot a tiqua," he offers.

"Din!" I reprimand his offer of killing one of those timid, innocent creatures, sending him a piercing, judgmental glare.

He cocks his helm and stares at my disapproving expression, keeping fairly still. I can't quite read him this time.

"We have plenty of food to last us a couple more days," I retort.

He shifts slightly and sighs. 

_Maybe he's sick of packaged food? Or does he really want to shoot something that badly? (Of course not...he's not a brute.) Or is it something else?_

He's silent for a handful of moments, then his dark visor shifts up at me.

"I just...I don't…," a large exhale gushes out of his helm like a ship's breached hull to space. His stance softens and he looks at his foundling then me. "I don't feel like I'm providing enough for you and Kar," he finally forces the words out. _He's still learning how to be more forthcoming with his emotions and thoughts. He knows I like that._

I feel a little mean for responding like I did to his suggestion - I had forgotten he likely feels a bit out of control with this whole Force-training situation in an unfamiliar, somewhat exposed location that we are calling a temporary home. 

"Din…," I begin, padding back over to him and the child in his arms, "just you being here, supporting us is everything." I caress the smooth curve of his helmet's cheek and he leans into the touch, surrendering and doing his best to embrace my sentiment. 

_He'll always feel the need to protect and provide. It's cast into his Beskar and woven into his soul._

"Perhaps we can have fresh fish tonight?" I smile, thinking that actually sounds better than shelf-stable nibbles. 

"I think he'd rather have frog," he looks down to the big-eared gremlin in his arms who coos back and tilts his head curiously, which makes me giggle. 

_Maybe Kar does know the word 'frog'?_

"You could teach us to fish." I pat his cowl and look into his visor. 

He sighs, not able to resist my aquamarine gaze for long. "Ok, but we might need to reschedule lessons for tomorrow. It's almost dark." 

Impending nightfall threatens the last of the muted pastels hanging in the darkening sky and the calls of the creatures of the dark crescendo.

"Night fishing is a thing," I tease, closing the distance to run my hand underneath his cowl. "You offered in the first place." _Din will keep us safe._

Din looks down at my pretty, pale face and those irresistible eyes. _I did offer, and it appears she indeed wants fish now_ , he thinks.

A small, defeated sigh escapes him. "You two can watch as I do the catching," he finally offers.

"So fish for dinner? Tonight?!" Now I'm giddy. _Selfishly, I also want to spend more time with him._

"Follow me," he ushers me with a firm hand against my back, carrying our chatty and happy kid.

We make our way through the sleepy forest over to the gushing stream, the same one that dons the waterfall upstream where we had trained earlier in the day.

Din hands me Kar and we watch as he almost immediately locates a long, fallen branch, and with vibroblade in hand, shears away the offshoots from the center, nearly straight stick. He makes quick work and wittles down one end into a _very_ effective-looking spear.

_The way he works with his hands…hhmmmmm. He can really make a girl daydream._

His Beskar catches the early moonlight, which also casts its silvery glow onto the babbling brook's surface. The Mandalorian sheaths his blade and takes the spear in hand, moving to stand on the stream's periphery. He carefully reaches to his helm's earpiece, activating the visor tech to scan the water. 

"Isn't that cheating?" I playfully joust at him.

He huffs a laugh. "Fish are crafty - they still have the advantage." 

Kar mouths his mythosaur necklace as we quietly watch Din from a few meters away. A couple minutes pass and still no movement from the Beskar man.

"You'd think the fish would be attracted to your shiny armor," I tease.

And almost just as I finish my sentence, in an instant, the spear stabs fiercely and precisely at the water.

"Got him," Din announces in refrained enthusiasm, pulling up the shaft and attached at the end, a rather large flopping fish. It's too dark to determine many of its features or colors. It must weigh a couple kilograms at least.

Din swiftly puts it out of its suffering with a stroke of his vibroblade, decapitating the creature in a blink.

"Quick reflexes." I shouldn't be as surprised as I am, but the man is fast.

"He should be enough to share for a main course," he surmises, removing his gloves and tucking them into his belt. He then dislodges the big catch from the spear and proceeds to prepare and clean the carcass with ease.

"How many times have you fished?" I inquire as Kar watches his father intently from my arms. 

"More than a few. Bounties like to hide in all kinds of difficult locations...many times in backwater worlds and in the wilderness," he grunts as he crouches down to rinse the gutted, beheaded fish in the stream. "I've had to live off the land plenty of times when tracking." 

"Who taught you?" I ask, wanting to know more about him, my husband.

"How to fish?" he asks rhetorically. He's quiet for a couple moments as he finishes rinsing and then stands upward. "My mother," he rasps over his shoulder.

"Your birth mother?"

He nods, turning to face us. He bends and grasps the spear. "Alariea. Alariea was her name." Din thinks back to his mother's loving smile and how safe he had felt as a boy with her and his father. He tries to remember the good memories.

"That's a beautiful name," I smile, trying to imagine Din as a young boy fishing with his mom. 

He strides past, heading back toward our camp and I follow. Kar is growing sleepy and leaning against my shoulder, ears tickling at my neck.

"She had taken me a few times to the river a couple cities over from our home. I was perhaps around six or seven years old. I remember my mother would say 'fishing is a lesson in patience and perseverance'," he smiles to himself, swearing he can almost hear his mother's strong yet soft voice speak these words. He continues, "I never caught anything but very small fish a couple times…but the feeling…I just remember the feeling of cool water rushing over my bare legs and my mother smiling and cheering me on in the bright summer sun," he reminisces out loud, feeling like a very heavy weight he either hadn't known existed or one he had grown accustomed to, is suddenly lifted from his sternum. For some reason, it feels liberating to share such seemingly small stories with me. 

My eyes tear at the happy sliver of childhood he openly shares with me. I will never take his shared memories for granted - they are as precious to me as my own. Afterall, _we are one_ , just as in the Mandalorian marriage vows.

‐--‐---------------------------

Din roasts the fish over the fresh fire he creates, filling the air with a delightful, smokey umami aroma.

We eat together in the tent, the child staring at Din's bare face for the second time ever. He's more interested in his father's facial hair than eating, which makes us all chuckle.

"Su'cuy, ner ad'ika. Gi? Edeemir," Din offers his son some a bite of fish as he studies his face intently. His little claws reach up to touch and Din humors him by leaning down. Small hands immediately rub over his beard, which is growing longer without a razor.

I watch as I enjoy my portion of the flaky, well-cooked fish, savoring even more Din's interactions with Kar.

"Booooooo," the little one coos softly with wide, curious eyes. I can feel his happy energy pulsing from seeing his father's face again.

"Booo-eeeerrr," Din takes advantage of the foundling's chosen sound and enunciates the Mando'a term for father or mother (buir), placing a hand on his cuirass.

"Booooooooo," the little one repeats, ears shifting up and down. He puts his little fingers on Din's lips.

"Boo-eerrr," Din repeats, pointing again at his chest and chuckling from the lack of personal space his son is currently affording him.

"Boooo-rrrrrrrr," Kar burbles.

"Yes! Elek!" Din congratulates.

"Good job!" I laugh, thoroughly enjoying the Mando'a lesson and how Kar's language skills are developing. 

\-----------------

After we finish our meal of fish and trail mix, green bean grows tired. Din sets Kar safely inside the pram for bedtime, nestling him amongst his windhound stuffed animal and stethoscope. The water bottles and canteens had been removed from his bassinet by Din earlier this morning.

"Nice Mando'a lesson earlier," I sheepishly grin. "Care to teach me some, booo-eeerrr?"

"Elek, mesh'la," his dark eyes study my face, entranced by the firelight that dances over my pale features and flickers in my bright eyes.

"What do you call this?" I lean in, catching him off-guard and stealing a healthy, luscious kiss from his soft lips. He about falls over and I catch his pauldrons.

"Murcyur," he breathlessly shares the word.

"Moorshoor," I attempt repeating his enunciation, our lips still touching, glancing off each other.

"Elek," he affirms, in a hushed moan, not only in reference to my pronunciation, but also at the current trajectory of the language lesson.

He pushes his lips against mine, hand now holding behind my head, fingers intertwining with some strands of my braid. The taste of his full lips, bristly prickle of his facial hair, and fevered, stilted breath has me getting more ravenous for my husband, my riduur.

He pulls me close and we lean with each other, falling to the sleeping mat and give into the wonton passions our bodies both crave and demand.

‐-‐-----------------------------

We both pant, coming down from our intense release. He lays on his back and I rest on my side, running my hands over his Beskar-clad chest. ****As the night before, he had remained in his armor, while I had shed mine.

My fingers trace the ornate, recessed hexagonal design in the center of his cuirass. 

"What's this? The design?" I had a simpler variation on my own chestplate.

He looks down where my fingertips lay. 

"Kar'ta Beskar," he rests his warm hand over mine, holding it over his heart.

I smile, studying his fingers over mine. 

"Kar'ta Beskar," I repeat, faintly feeling his swift, powerful heartbeat beneath. "What does it mean?" 

He softly traces the shape over the back of my hand.

"It's an ancient symbol of strength, courage, and survival of the Mandalorian culture," he shares proudly, but this feeling is tarnished with a heavy undertone of sorrow for his brethren. "Our hearts have had to be as tough as Beskar for everything we have endured."

I move my hand to caress his cheek gently, my own heart swelling with nothing but compassion. I'll never understand what he's feeling, but I will be there for him, always.

"Mesh'la, ner riduur, ner yaim," he softly speaks, tenderly, lovingly brushing a stray hair from my forehead behind the remnant of my ear. 

"Ner yaym?" I catch onto the new word, looking up into his chocolate eyes.

"My home," he interprets, gently stroking my cheek with his thumb.

I immediately understand the sentiment of what he had said. It takes my breath away.

"Ner yaim," I repeat, looking into his eyes. He is my home.

I shift to lay on his chest, nuzzling into the soft cowl above his breastplate, comforted and eased to sleep by the tranquil rise and fall of his chest and his heart's soft lullaby.

\------------------

**Mando’a Words**

**Ad'ika:** Son or daughter depending on context

 **Buir:** Mother or father - context determines gender.

 **Elek:** Yes, affirmative.

 **Kar’ta:** Heart (figurative or literal) and/or soul 

**Murcyur:** Kiss (verb)

 **Ner:** My

 **Riduur:** Husband or wife; spouse (context determines gender)

 **"Su'cuy, ner ad'ika. Gi?" "Edeemir,":** "Hi, my son. Fish?" "Bite," - when Din was trying to get Kar to eat despite his infatuation with Din's bare face.

 **Yaim:** Home

\----------------------------

The saga will continue.

_Keldabe Kiss_ , 2020 - Digital Sketch by author (FoxLace on Tumblr, TheHeartOfAMandalorian on AO3)

**Featuring Din and Halarys**


	31. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XXXI: The Night Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din has some thoughts during nighttime guard duty. Din’s POV (until end).
> 
> Warnings: Angst-adjacent? Mentions of intimacy, fluff. Blood and gore depictions and major character death (kinda) toward end. Horrid attempts at Mando’a (definitions at end of chapter).

He sheepishly peeks into the tent from his guard position a handful of meters away, the crackling, content fire between her and him. Inside, Halarys remains peacefully asleep after he'd carefully and very reluctantly shifted her lovely head from his chest to stand on nighttime guard duty. He swears he can still sense the comforting weight of her face in the crook of his shoulder, how she fits against him like a puzzle piece, wrapped snugly in his arms, near his kar'ta, safe and sound - he can't help but feel a pang of incompleteness at their separation.

His eyes drink in her sleeping features, marveling at the way her dark lashes lay upon her cheeks and how she adorably drools onto the pillow, firelight dancing over her pale, soft skin - the sight makes his kar'ta pitter-patter. She's always had an effect upon his heart, regularly making its usually steady rhythm falter and stumble, much like the words in his mouth, effectively knocking the wind from him like an enraged mudhorn, but in the most delightful way possible. 

_Mesh'la_ , he mutters breathlessly, still feeling the tingling afterglow of the height of their passion flowing, coursing beneath his skin. It's a honey-rich, heavy ecstasy he never wants to live without again and he revels in the new ritual of nightly lovemaking with his _riduur_. 

At least he hopes it becomes a ritual...

His kar'ta almost cannot take the thought, clenching hard within his chest at the prospect of her silken, healing form against his sensitive, scarred skin and her gentle, caring soul loving him, touching him deep down to the very marrow of his bones for the rest of his days. The thought of her replaces his life's blood and fills his veins, which, like numerous, small rivers of pure oxytocin, cascade endlessly into his heart, perfusing it so blissfully full. It almost makes him dizzy and vision blur. 

_How can she still manage to steal my haal?_ he ponders, grasping lightly at his cuirass, leather glancing over Beskar as he reminds himself to breathe. The smell of smoke-infused air, marinated with hickory sweetness, reaches his nose through the helmet's filter - a familiar scent he's appreciated countless nights before, but with her, it's so much more vibrant and complex, carrying aromatic notes and igniting a plethora of saccharine feelings he hadn't ever experienced before her. It's almost new. 

His knees feel weak and heart pounds forcefully as he takes one last look at his _cyare riduur_ before returning to his task.

He then diverts his focus to his surroundings, concentrating on evening out his breathing and pulse, which have grown labored at the blissful thoughts.

"This woman will be the death of me," he jokingly chuckles to himself, hand over his bounding, Beskar-covered heart.

‐-----------------

Night shift the evening prior had been largely uneventful, minus the overly-curious, bushy-tailed highland squirrel that tried climbing his leg for the trail mix ration in his pocket. (He had given-in and offered the little thing a few nuts, which it greedily stuffed into its cheeks and skittered away up the tree). 

He had chuckled lightly to himself, recognizing the awestruck look in its large dark eyes as being similar to that of the kid's when he offers the metal ball. 

He can't help but perceive the kid in everything now - ears in leaves, his color in fauna, his laughter in the breeze, his eyes in the _ka'ra_ \- he views the galaxy around him a little differently since both of us.

It's no longer mostly the monotonous dichotomy of threats versus friendlies or hindrances versus facilitators, but now a multifaceted prism which displays colorful reflections of his life, his _aliit_ , everywhere he looks. His thoughts are ever occupied with them. Where loneliness and emptiness had once created a heavy, melancholious void beneath his sternum, eroding away his kar'ta, it is now filled, brimming with love and life, cozy, velveteen and vibrant as a blue sky summer day on Sorgan.

\----------------------

Din hopes it stays quiet again tonight as he scans the perimeter and beyond into the depths of the surrounding forest, settings in his visor shifting in an attempt to detect any heat signatures. Leather clad fingertips graze the handle of his blaster, reassuring himself he hadn't somehow dropped or misplaced the weapon, and that it's in fact still there, ready for use if needed.

 _Naas, nothing_ , he determines after making a scrutinizing 720 degree double pass over the perimeter.

As he stares up at the moonlit foliage, and through breaks in the canopy sees the sparkling, jewel-like glint of stars in the inky night sky, his thoughts wander to something that's been gnawing at back of his mind: 

_They are running low on gems._

Only a small handful remain, which he could exchange for credits. He curses himself for not doing so earlier.

The gems had dwindled fast, using at least one or two for each transaction since Deridian...and he had donated a good handful to The Armorer; rather he had insisted she take payment for the intricate, high-tech helmet she had generously forged for Halarys (and as reparation for inadvertently exposing and causing the deaths of many members of his Tribe). No amount of jewels can ever wipe away that guilt, that eternal stain on his kar'ta, which starts quaking with despair as he ruminates on the image forever seared into his brain: The empty, battered pile of _beskar'gam_.

His gaze wanders over to the tent entrance where his riduur rests, flickering firelight sputters over her _racin_ features. His pulse steadies, using her peaceful vision as a life raft to save himself from drowning in the thoughts of the Tribe's fate.

Focus, he reprimands himself. _How am I going to tell Halarys we’re nearly out of gems? How am I going to tell her I need to look for jobs after this Force training? How do I tell her I need to start bounty hunting again?_

His eyes shift to the fire, searching for inspiration in its mesmerising, golden dance.

_I suppose I could look for mercenary work, but those involved civilians, innocents...it can get messy and now that I have my aliit, I don’t know if anything involving my skills is safe._

_But what else can I do? What other job paths can I take?_

He leans against a sturdy, ancient tree, staring out into the forest beyond the campsite and pensively pondering endlessly at how he can earn credits without placing himself or his family in danger. The galaxy is a brutal place, no doubt - but there has to be something minimal risk that he could tolerate.

He mulls it over, for what seems like hours as he keeps alert for any potential threats in the surrounding forest. However, his mind-numbing internal debating keeps circling back around to the same line of work he’s been doing for years:

_Bounty hunting._

He is a _beroya_. His ship is equipped for it (large cargo bay and carbon-freezer). His arsenal is tailored for it (magnetic binders, a vast collection of both lethal and nonlethal weapons). The blood pumping through his veins is forever stained with it, with all the people, most deserving and some not, of the fate that he ultimately makes reality. He could turn his thawed heart cold again if needed.

 _How do I tell my riduur I must take some work from The Guild again?_ His kar'ta clenches painfully this time in his chest at the worried look and resistance he knows she will give when he breaks the news. 

He conjures in his mind ways to broach the idea softly. 

_Perhaps when we gotal'ur kar'taylir darasuum?_

_Di’kut_ , he swears at himself, that’s not a good time - _I can barely see straight let alone think straight when we’re in the throes of intimacy_. He grumbles to himself, scanning the periphery again. 

The horizon remains clear.

_Or maybe when we are about to fall asleep? I could just hold her tight against me, and blurt it out..._

He’s appalled that his next idea seems even worse than the last. 

Then, his visor catches movement 11 meters away and 7 meters from the ground. He grabs his scope and zooms in and watches a small arboreal creature munch on some leaves up in a tree which sparks an idea.

_I could tell her over a nice meal! Once we’re back on the Crest - I can make some mild tiingilar and uj’alayi for dessert!_

_That's the best idea I've had all night_ , he satisfactorily smiles, praising himself for the half-decent plan.

\------------------------------------------------------------

“Cyar’ika,” Din’s voice gently calls from over my shoulder. 

I slowly turn. My eyes adjust and are drawn to him, standing tall and stoic a few meters away. His helmet is off, but he's otherwise in full armor, and we’re outside. It's hazy, almost dark.

And something seems off.

“Din,” I attempt to speak, but my voice is trapped in my throat. “Din!” I barely croak. I try to get to him, but my legs feel as though they're trapped in quicksand.

“Mesh’la,” he approaches, reaching out to me, dark brown eyes full of trust and love. 

_Why is your helmet off?_ I think, unable to form words.I feel sluggish, like thick amber sap has made its way deep into my muscles and joints.

I nearly touch his arms, but just as I come within reach, his chin falls to his chest and blood trickles then sickeningly spurts out of his mouth, falling onto his cuirass.

"Din!" My guts lurches and plummets and eyes fall downward. 

.

.

.

In my hand, the dark blade - the darksaber that had been taken from Gideon - its angled handle rests firmly in my grasp. 

And to my horror, the blade is activated, piercing directly through the center of the hexagonal design of his cuirass, the kar'ta beskar.

I’ve stabbed him. An unsurvivable wound.

.

.

.

My panicking mind cannot keep up as he falls forward into my arms, the dark, blue-veined blade sinking deeper, directly through his torso, its wicked tip visible over his shoulder. Dread and disbelief overwhelms me as tears blind my eyes.

“Please, Halarys,” his voice raspily pleads into my ear. “Please.” 

“No!” I scream, terrified and completely not in control of my body. I can’t get the blade to retract. 

I can’t move. 

Instead, my wrist makes the most sickening of motions, twisting and jerking as if seeking to inflict as much damage as possible, completely betraying me. 

I feel Din’s hot, warm blood seep and trickle over my fingers as his cuirass finally sinks to the very hilt of the sabre. His weight falls limp into my arms. 

I cannot move.

“No!” I wail as burning tears stream down my face and immensely overwhelming dread unforgivingly grips my throat and gut. 

This cannot be happening. 

“Din!” I try to scream, but my voice barely escapes my lips.

“Very good, Dr. Ristania,” a familiar male voice sounds over my shoulder. 

I pivot my head, finding an Imperial commander holding our Kar. But not just any Imp...

 _Gideon_. 

“Let go of him!” I cry out, still holding my husband's slumped form, unable to retract the weapon from his body and my hands slick with horrific amounts of his hot, crimson blood.

“Halarys,” Din’s voice sounds again. 

_Impossible._

My eyes shift back, meeting my husband’s lifeless gaze as he stares, cold and dead. 

But his blood-coated lips move. “Hal’ika.”

“Din! No this can’t be happening.”

“Nightsister, I warned you,” a familiar female voice mournfully speaks beside me. 

I turn and see the monk, somberly hanging her head, seemingly having materialized out of nowhere.

“Hal’ika,” Din’s voice sounds again, and with that, the muted world starts to fade.

\--------------------------------------------------------

“Mesh’la!”

My eyes shoot open and I sit up, disoriented, sweaty, panting and pulse racing.

“Din?” my dry voice cracks.

“Hal’ika, yes it’s me. You’re ok.” He's kneeling beside the sleeping mat, holding my hand in his bare one.

“Din,” I start sobbing, my breath hitching and catching uncontrollably as I start to borderline hyperventilate. 

“Cyar’ika, I’m here. It’s ok,” Din comforts me, his strong arms pulling my face against his chest. His heart and breath, albeit hurried, are proof he's alive. He's fine. 

“I think you had a nightmare,” his voice is low and comforting, like the hum of a ship’s engine, as he gently runs his hand over my hair.

_It had just been a bad dream._

I work myself down from the terrible feelings and images cycling chaotically through my mind. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" his husky voice rumbles baritone in his chest, his helm tilting down to look at me.

I shake my head, just focusing on his rhythmic chest, his intact heart reverberating powerfully against his Beskar cuirass. 

I sit in his embrace for a few minutes, the steady rolling motion of his breaths calming me like gentle waves on a lake, and eventually my own breathing starts to match his.

"Cyar'ika, it's almost dawn. You should get dressed," he breaks the silence, clearing his throat at the end. 

I can hear his heart rate speed up slightly. I look down. _Oh._ I'm still bare from intimacy last night.

I nod my head and Din assists in dressing me, first with my undersuit and then handing articles of Beskar and finally my medic bag, which he's already replenished with food for the day.

"Thanks," I smile at my incredibly kind-hearted husband and his patience.

He politely nods and turns to the pram. Its cover splits open and Din grabs our sleepy little son.

"Su cuy'gar, Kar," he greets in Mando'a, holding the still lethargic child lovingly, protectively against his soft cowl.

The dream's unpleasant grip continues to relent as I watch Din and Kar. I approach my family.

"Soo-cooey-gahr, Kar," I attempt to repeat Din's words, a smile forming on my face at the dark inquisitive eyes staring at us both. I lean in toward his small head and he grabs my cheeks, nuzzling my face which about makes me cry.

"Gar copikla," Din mutters softly at the child in his arms as I compose myself.

"Ready for day two of training?" I hush to the little one, rubbing my nose on his.

"Gah," he replies.

And with that, we make our way back to the Togruta's waterfall.

\-------------------------------

**Mando’a Words**

**Aliit:** Family, clan

 **Beroya:** Bounty hunter 

**Beskar'gam:** Mandalorian armor

 **Cyare:** Beloved

 **Cyar’ika:** Sweetheart

 **Di’kut:** Idiot, dumba**, a bad insult (Din was being a bit harsh on himself!)

 **Gar copikla:** You are cute (only in reference to animals or babies) 

**Gotal'ur kar'taylir darasuum:** Make love (this I took liberty with as I'm pretty sure kar'taylir darasuum [love] refers to the feeling, not the act…). But it translates cutely. 

**Haal:** Breath

 **Ka'ra:** Stars

 **Kar'ta:** Heart, or soul

 **Mesh'la:** Beautiful 

**Naas:** Nothing

 **Racin:** Pale 

**Su cuy'gar:** Hello/hi. 

**Tiingilar:** Very spicy Mandalorian stew

 **Uj’alayi:** A very dense, very sweet cake made from crushed nuts, dried fruit and spices, and then soaked in a sticky scented syrup called uj'jayl. Simplified as uj cake - definition copied from Wookieepedia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading my story. There are so many other, much much more eloquently written Mando tales out there. 
> 
> I've been taking a break from the super-action-packed storylines in favor of character development and more domestic stuff (I just super enjoy this). I hope you still enjoy as well. Although, there is more action on its way, I promise! (Din back to bounty-hunting...soonish??) Halarys will have her hands full.


	32. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XXXII: A Stone's Throw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Halarys and Kar continue Force-training with the Togruta monk. Din helps as well. 
> 
> Warnings: Fluff. Semi-training sequence. Injuries (not serious or bloody). Horrid attempts at Mando’a.

  
“They were likely spirits of the Force. You and the Child possess a very strong connection to it, so I'm not surprised,” the Togruta answers my question about the translucent figures Kar and I had witnessed yesterday afternoon as she slings yet another unforgiving projectile at my head and I duck. 

“Work on deflecting,” she lightly reprimands, standing along the burbling stream's rocky bank about half a dozen meters from me.

“Not gonna chance that when it’s flying at my face,” I huff as another small rock hurtles toward my head. This time I outstretch my hands and the pebble changes trajectory, bowing around my shoulder and whizzing within a few centimeters of Din’s helmet, narrowingly missing his forehead.

“Sorry!” I whip around, cringing at the Beskar man holding our now giggling child amongst thick, green, knee-high ferns. 

_At least Kar finds it amusing._

“It’s fine, Halarys,” he half-chuckles as he bounces the squeaky bundle of ears in his arms. 

_Well, Din seems to find it amusing as well._

I turn back to the Togruta and huff a laugh, shaking my head. She aims another stone, using the Force to pitch it at me.

Instinctively, I throw my hands up to shield and I deflect it into the mossy ground at my feet with a satisfying thud, sinking it halfway into the thick, soft green vegetation.

“Should we be concerned about the Force spirits?” I further prod as I duck a particularly large rock, which coaxes an irritated glare from my face.

“No, they are beneficent and are meant to guide. They are nothing to fear,” she elaborates, again Force-chucking a fist-sized rock toward me and I swerve, not experimenting with my skills on that one.

“Well, you're giving me something to fear. Seriously, how about some smaller ones?” I exasperatedly scowl at her. 

_Is she trying to bludgeon me?_

Din continues watching closely, ready to step in if things become too rough. He knows I can handle myself, but it’s not in his nature to stand idly by, especially when it involves the wellbeing of his _cyar’ika_ or _ad’ika_. 

Kar watches intently as well, ears honing-in and adjusting to our actions like little satellite dishes questing for information. He's sitting this exercise out as he’s too young. I had vehemently insisted that nothing put him in harm’s way, and was both appalled (and only more than a little proud) when Din had shared the tale of Kar shielding him, Greef, and Cara from a flamethrower during Gideon's attack on Nevarro. Regardless of his past feats, I hadn't wanted to place our son unnecessarily in a position where he might be injured, and Din had quickly agreed as well.

Another rock from the brook is flung at my face and I outstretch my hands, but my energy wanes. It connects hard against my palm with a _thwack_ , eliciting a yelp from my throat. I shake the stinging sensation from my hand.

"Hal'ika?" Din's voice is husky and thick with concern as he steps forward and holds himself back from calling the lesson off. _It tears at his heartstrings to witness me in any kind of pain._

"I'm fine," I gently assert over my shoulder. 

The kid coos loudly.

“Focus, nightsister,” the teacher directs.

Another rock careens at me and I successfully force it upward, but gravity takes hold and it comes directly down on my scalp with a _thud_. 

"Ouch," I rub the spot which will no doubt bruise. Luckily, it had been a rather small stone.

"Hal'ika," Din repeats, his muscles tensing and quivering to jump in to scoop me up. He can feel his blood pressure gradually ticking upward.

"I'm ok, Din," I reassure, glancing at his visor and then back at my trainer. "Perhaps I should have brought my helmet," I complain as another stone is shot my way.

I successfully deflect the next couple, and then the next few after that. 

I start getting a hang of it, growing accustomed to the flow of energy.

"Good, Padawan. I guess you just needed that hit on your head," the Force-wielder quips.

Next, she changes up the pace. Instead of one, two projectiles flash at me at once.

I'm unprepared, and only deflect one as the other _tings_ loudly against my right pauldron. _I thank the gods I have armor._

"Ok, _now_ we're playing dirty!" I growl at her lekku-head.

"Life doesn't play fair," she ripostes, now hurtling three staggered projectiles my way.

I deflect two and swerve to miss the last. 

She keeps them coming for another ten minutes or so with varying amounts at once, and I manage only a hit to my shoulder and shin (which, unfortunately, boast no armor) that will leave some mild bruises. 

I soon grow winded and tire.

"Break! I need a break," I hastily request, holding out my hands, then bending and bracing my palms on my cuisses as I catch my breath. "How about we switch and I practice inflicting the damage?" I ask, glancing up at her, squinting through the salty sweat on my brow.

"Mastery of defense is key," she smirks, then her attention shifts to the Beskar-clad warrior cradling the large-eared babe. "Mandalorian, can you put down the Child for a moment?"

"As long as you don't harm him," he skeptically responds, visor glinting in the midafternoon sky shining through the thick canopy.

"He'll be safe, I promise," she earnestly nods, almost bowing.

Din looks at me and I shrug, unsure what she's planning. He obliges her request, bending to softly place the little one down, commanding him to "stay" multiple times with a stern point of his burnt-orangey tipped glove.

As Din stands upright, keeping the corner of his eye on our sneaky son, a sly smile forms on her ornately-marked face.

_Now I think I know what she's up to._

"Don't you dare," I warn her not to do it.

"Deflect!" she sternly shouts, Force-slinging a palm-sized rock at my husband in a blink.

“Din!” Instinctively, my hands shoot out and just as it's about to strike his cuirass, it halts midair. 

.

.

.

The child notices the sudden appearance of the interesting, floating object near his father and happily reaches with outstretched claws and guides it into his grasp.

“Good job!” the Togruta announces. “You used your instincts there.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t Kar protecting Din?” _I’m not so sure I had actually done that...I should be angry, but her aim had been cleanly square to his chestpiece. No harm would have come of it…unless it had deflected strangely and hit Kar._

“It was your energy,” she dismisses, her blue eyes flashing truth. “You were the one doing the protecting. And now, we can work on your offense,” she motions me to take her spot near the bank for a cache of handy projectiles.

My eyes skeptically shift to Din, who's again holding our son, and he nods his blessing to continue as Kar starts mouthing the river rock.

“Don’t let him eat that,” I point at the little gremlin.

His visor drops down. 

“Hey, spit that out,” he growls reprimandingly, and bends to take the stone from his mouth. “Not food, not skraan.” He slowly shakes his helm back and forth as the little one reaches with gimmie hands, shrilly protesting the seizure of his new possession. 

“Not skraan,” Din repeats before slowly handing it back. 

The little one opens his mouth again and Din retracts. 

“Not food, not skraan.” Din asserts.

The gremlin pleads with his undeniable, inky brown eyes. The Beskar father lowers it again, and this time Kar seems to understand the request and politely grasps and holds it in his little paws, studying the numerous little sparkles within the stone with his large eyes. 

“Jate,” Din praises, studying how the glittering rock twinkles in his precious son’s eyes. “Jate.”

“Bring the little one over here,” the Togruta loudly requests, abruptly grabbing Din’s attention. 

Din visor shifts to me for my input and I nod. 

_I figure, since we’ll be doing the chucking now, it’s safe for Kar to continue in the lessons._

He plucks up the green bean and saunters toward us. He then sets the little one down to the padded terra between me and the Togruta, a few meters from the stream's edge.

“Ok, Mandalorian, now you stand about ten paces down range,” she points at the thicket of ferns.

“What?” Din nearly does a double-take. 

“You’re the target,” the monk says deadpan. 

“I don’t think that’s a great -,” I chime in, taking a step toward Din, who gently, but swiftly holds up a hand to halt my words. 

His helm shifts to me. 

“It’s fine Halarys, I’m wearing armor and I’m as good a target as it gets,” he replies, knowing target-practice with a realistic figure is important, thinking back to his training days in the Fighting Corps.

“He’s right,” the great montrals nod in agreement.

“Din,” I apprehensively gaze at him. _I don’t like the idea of Force-throwing hard objects at my husband, even if he is wearing Beskar._

“I’ll be fine. I’ve been hit by much worse as you know, doctor,” he playfully cocks his head. _To be honest, he’s just happy to no longer be standing idly. At least he’ll feel as though he’s contributing something._

Taking long strides, Din counts ten paces, stopping and turning to face us. He stands tall and stoic - _dare I say his stance is almost imposing…_

"You first, nightsister. Demonstrate to the little Padawan what to do," the Togruta smiles, offering me a jagged graphite-colored rock in her open palm. 

I reach to grab it, but she suddenly drops it onto the ground.

"Use the Force to pick it up," she instructs, "but don't bring it into your hand - keep it levitated."

"Ok," I reply somewhat sharply, slightly annoyed at her antics. With arm outstretched and open palm aimed at the little dark rock resting atop the moss, I focus like when I had levitated the cup on the Crest. 

Kar studies as I hone my attention and energy, feeling it flow over the back of my hand and from my palm. 

The rock begins to tremble. 

.

.

.

But it doesn't otherwise move.

"Nightsister, clear your mind. Think of the meditation," she mediates, stepping a little closer. "Feel the energy around you. Let it in. Concentrate on where and what you'd like _it_ to do. Feel _it_ flow through you and into your intention," she instructs gently.

I close my eyes and calm myself, hand still hovering above the rock. I focus on the stream's nearby rushing water, as it cascades over rocks and submerged fallen branches, imagining translating that kinetic energy into lifting the stone.

"Halarys," Din's voice sounds hurried.

My eyes flash open. 

_The rock is hovering just beneath my hand…_

Along with half a dozen other small rocks that had been hidden beneath the surface of the moss.

The Togruta nods. "Very good. You can work on your precision. Try letting go of some," she directs. “Just think about it, imagine it in your mind’s eye.”

I concentrate on holding onto the original stone, allowing my focus to narrow. Kar watches and starts levitating his own sparkly little rock.

"Good job, little Padawan," the Togruta seems genuinely impressed by Kar. She then shifts her sights on me.

Two stones fall away.

"Good," she encourages.

I attempt to whittle the remaining excess stones, but then in a blink, all fall from my invisible hold and thud back into the moss. I cannot help but feel a pang of frustrated defeat.

"Try focusing on just the one stone," she patiently speaks.

I steady my hand, focusing the energy on the task, feeling it flow over my skin, vellus hairs raising on-end. 

The object quakes, but doesn't raise.

"Focus on what you'd like the energy to achieve," the Togruta directs, leaning a little closer, looking between my hand and the rock.

I concentrate on using the Force as an extension of myself, as if an invisible limb of sorts. I will it to grasp the rock, feeling its static embrace sweep over my arm and flow from my hand downward.

With that, the single selected item trembles and slowly rises, meeting just under my open palm.

A smile breaks upon my lips, boosting my confidence.

"Very good," she nods. "Now look at your shiny target," she gestures at Din, who nods in acknowledgement. "Direct that rock, however fast you can manage, at his torso."

"Hit me as hard as you can, Hal'ika," he persuades as he enthusiastically pounds the center of his cuirass with a closed fist a few times in quick succession, eliciting a dull metallic thud.

I shake my head at his antics, and then concentrate on propelling the floating rock forward, thinking back to how I had thrown that giant droid down a long hallway when Din, Cara, and I had been escaping that Imp encampment after Nevarro. _It had almost felt like a sudden, powerful burst or surge of energy._

Imagining that feeling and result, the stone abruptly launches from my hand, but only travels about halfway before anti-climatically arching into the ground, rolling just a meter shy of Din's feet into the ferns, rustling some of their leaves.

"Jate, Halarys," Din's helmet curtly nods, genuinely impressed at my first try. 

I roll my eyes. _That had hardly been impressive._

"Ok, that was good. Let's keep it up," the monk encourages warmly, gesturing toward the free, natural ammo stash sitting all along the brookside, just behind us.

Kar’s curious eyes shift between me and the praising-Togruta as we turn to select stones, and he decides it's his turn to show-off his moves. 

He Force-flings the stone right at Din…

_THUNK!_

It connects with great vigor, (accidentally and regrettably) into his groin. 

The Beskar man falls down to his knees, crumpling over to belatedly guard the injured area as a strangled moan escapes and crackles through his vocoder. 

Din hadn't even seen it coming.

Hearing the commotion, I turn and find Din hunched over on his knees, and then quickly look over to find the little one's ears sheepishly flattened downward and notice his lack of sparkly stone. I connect the dots, and walk over, scooping up the guilty culprit.

"Din are you ok?" I rush toward him with the sorry little green bean, trying not to laugh, biting the inside of my cheek. _Afterall, he might have really hurt him, knowing how much power the runt possessed._

"Fine," he barely manages to squeak out. He feels like he might vomit and that all wind has been knocked from his lungs.

"Are you sure? You don't seem fine," I kneel down beside him, holding the felonious little one against me. “I can take a look.” My arm twitches to retrieve the scanner in my med bag.

"Not necessary,” he peeps, holding up a quivering hand and shaking his helm. “It mostly...hit my inner thigh," he groans through choppy breath. "I'll be fine...in a minute." He glances up, as his swimming vision slowly starts to center. He meters his breathing.

I stare at him, unable to hold back my inappropriate smile and chuckle any longer. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't laugh," I snort, biting my lip, nares flaring as choked off laughs force their way out. 

"Go 'head..’s funny...well...not for me...at the moment," his words are still stunted, but his voice sounds a bit less forced.

The kid's ears twitch and he tries to hide his face against my breast. I can feel his regret. 

"Oh Kar, it's ok. It was an accident," I try to keep a straight face looking down at his small, green head, with drooping ears. 

_I’ve never seen them so low before._

"It's ok, ad'ika," Din starts to straighten up, breathing more normally now, and reaches out a hand to his son. “I know you didn’t mean to.”

Kar hides his face in my shoulder. I can feel his little breaths through the fabric along with his remorse. 

“Kar, it’s ok...please look at me, your buir,” Din says more sternly, but still softly, his voice much more composed. “Look at buir.”

Kar peers up at me for reassurance and I nuzzle his head before turning him around to face the victim of his deed.

“It’s ok, Kar,” Din hushes, slipping off a glove. He tenderly reaches out to his foundling, trying to ignore the lingering nausea, and takes the little clawed hand between his bare thumb and forefinger. 

Kar coos and reaches with his other hand to Din.

“Boooeerr,” he lowly burbles, looking at his Beskar father with glistening eyes as I shift him to Din’s arms.

The moment has turned from comical to sweet in an instant. 

The Togruta loudly clears her throat from behind me. I turn and she’s staring around at everything but us with her arms folded, impatiently crossed.

“Alright, Din. You’re relieved of target-duty. We’ll use trees now,” I instruct.

He shakes his helm negatorily. 

“No, we’ll just be more careful,” he replies, handing our son back to me who nuzzles into my shoulder, stuffing the edge of his mythosaur pendant into his mouth. His energy is now nearly content.

“I don’t think you want to chance another hit down there…,” I nod down to his loin and quirk my brows. It’s precious to me as well… “Wait...why don’t you have a codpiece?” I blurt. 

_Hells, I've wondered as much for a while now, but never had a good reason to ask until presently._

He cocks his helm humorously, as he thinks for a few beats. 

“I guess I haven't ever anticipated projectiles landing there. It’s unspoken courtesy not to hit or shoot a man in that area...even in the ruthless bounty hunting business.”

I nod through a pursed smile at his ridiculous explanation and suddenly get an idea.

“Well, if you insist on continuing to serve as our Force-fodder,” I reach to my thigh with my free hand and loosen a cuisse, “at least take this.” I offer the oblong beskar plate. It’s sufficient to attach to his belt and hang low enough to cover the _special_ area.

“I was actually thinking something similar. Thanks Hal’ika,” his voice is almost back to its normal pitch as he attaches the Beskar piece to hang from his leather belt.

“Hey, you guys done? I don’t have all day,” the Togruta shouts, going for a less-subtle hint this time as her hands rest upon her hips, above her holstered lightsabers.

I turn back to Din and snicker. 

“Are you sure?” I furrow my brow. 

“Yes. This is the best way to learn aiming, plus I can move. Can a tree do that?” 

I can hear the smirk through his vocoder.

I’m not going to argue with the stubborn, devoted metalhead, so the kid and I return to our post; however, I decide that Kar might sit the remainder out - I don’t want to traumatize him any further. So the monk helps keep an eye on him (as does Din) as I levitate and aim stones. Although, Kar is easy to keep within sight as he maintains a curious, watchful eye on us, thoroughly intrigued by my actions.

I resume practicing lifting and flinging stones, but my aim and range is less to be desired.

I keep it up for about ten minutes, with instruction from the Togruta consisting mainly of repetitious phrases regarding "focusing" and "feeling" and "harnessing the energy around me", and sweet "Hal'ika" praises and encouragements from Din. But I can't help but grow a bit discouraged and frustrated as I have yet to even hit Din - the closest I've come is within a meter, and that's being generous.

Then, after what seems like the fiftieth attempt, I hit Din (well, the ankle of his left boot to be technically exact).

"You're doing great," the Togruta encourages.

_I cannot help but feel my perfectionist side surface. I need to work on improving, perfecting the skill to be more accurate and powerful._

Kar toddles over, deciding to pitch-in to my efforts, and brings an armful of pebbles he's collected, setting the grouping at my boots. 

"Bah," he points at the pile and then looks up at me with twinkling, loving eyes.

"Thank you, Kar," I bend and scruffle his cute little head as a wide, warm smile appears on my face along with a fuzzy feeling in my gut. "That's very generous of you." _Gods, he's adorable._

I select a rounded, cream-colored rock from the collection and levitate it out in front of me, aiming at the kar'ta Beskar on the Mandalorian's chest. The energy spurts from my palm and Force-slings the smaller stone.

A satisfying and surprising _ding_ noise greets my ears as it strikes Din's cuirass, just a few centimeters below the ornate design, my specific target.

_I hit him!!!_

"Jate, Hal'ika!" Din verbally applauds. "Jate!"

A victorious grin creeps onto my face.

_I finally hit him!_

"Good, nightsister. Now keep it up," she gestures to the large pebbles at my feet.

"Those are some lucky stones, Kar," I ruffle his ears again and more confidently return to my practice. 

I keep at it and continue to hit Din more than I miss (Din is grateful for my cuisse as I unintentionally strike that area more than a few times...) and my 'shooting' grows more powerful and accurate. 

_Well, more accurate is a loose observation._

Unfortunately, some of my shots clock his unprotected upper right arm and lower right abdomen. They hit pretty hard based on the solid _thud_ noise they create connecting with his muscle, audible all the way from my vantage point.

"Sorry Din!" I grimace sympathetically, but he barely flinches and stubbornly insists he's fine and rather enthusiastically incites me to continue.

Kar decides to get in on the action after studying the objective (hitting Din's armored parts) and readies his own projectiles effortlessly.

Din exaggeratedly grunts as Kar loudly pings a couple small rocks off his chest plate, triggering the child to giggle. 

_I'm happy the little gremlin is feeling better now._

As we both continue our barrage of Force-fire at the Mandalorian, pebbles and rocks bouncing and pinging off his cuirass (mostly), he determines we're not challenged enough and starts moving.

"You've graduated from stationary targets," he decides, now ducking from and dodging our shots.

"Hey! That's not fair!" I chortle, temporarily ceasing my fire.

"Try to anticipate or overwhelm my defense," he shouts, crouching forward and gesturing with a scooping wave of his hand to keep the stones coming.

The Togruta nods in approval.

"I don't want to hurt you," I retort.

"Good thing my wife's a doctor," his voice is rife with smartassery. 

I roll my eyes. This Mandalorian is a glutton for punishment.

I raise my eyebrows and crack my knuckles. "Remember, you asked for this." I raise five rocks at once, guiding them from the streamside to hover before me.

"Uhhh ohhh," Din sarcastically announces, making Kar laugh.

With that I sling two of the stones at him and he manages to roll and duck, avoiding both, but his makeshift codpiece comes loose and distracts him. Taking advantage, I shoot the remaining three, one bouncing off his helmet, and the other two hitting his pauldron.

"Gotcha," I victoriously snicker, feeling pride I bested the ex-bounty hunter.

"Nice job, Hal-," he begins and then over-dramatically falls backward, arms-out, landing with a solid _thud_ into the ferns.

"Very funny, Din." I place my hands firmly on my hips, waiting for his little display to be over. 

The kid giggles.

He doesn't get up.

"Din, you bantha-butt," I chime at him.

He still doesn't move. 

"Din…," I start growing worried and quickly walk over. "Din!"

Looking down, I can see him breathing, his cuirass steadily rising and falling as proof. I prod his side with a foot.

_Nothing._

Kar comes toddling over, cooing.

"Din," I lean down, reaching to check his radial pulse and before I know it, my wrist is in his viper grip and he's pulling me on top of him.

"You filthy womp rat!" I huff atop him as he's thoroughly scared away what little color my skin possesses. 

Kar rushes over into the dogpile, babbling and squeaking gleefully.

The Togruta shakes her head at our escapades, bitter-sweetly reminded of the dynamics of a senator and Jedi from her past.

Din holds Kar and I close on top of him as we all laugh.

"Ok you three, I think lessons are complete for the day," the monk speaks loudly from a few meters away, deciding to give us the remaining daylight.

“Wait!" I shout up from Din's embrace, watching her figure walk away. "Please, wait!"

She stops and turns halfway as I break from my devious husband's greedy grasp. 

"Yes, nightsister," her eyes appear a little pained, but she blinks a few times, returning them to their normal glow.

"If you don't mind, I have some questions before we turn in for the night,” I stand close - with the tops of her montrals, she stands nearly half a meter above me.

The Togruta nods permission.

“It's a silly question, and perhaps you might not know the answer, but why had I grown faint when my powers were first expressed about a couple months ago, and now I seem mostly fine despite exercising them nearly all day?” 

She looks at me and smiles, thinking for a moment.

“I suspect your body had been adjusting to the use of the Force at first. And the type of act you're performing could be a factor as well. Compared to him," she nods at the little one in Din's embrace,"your adult physiology can more quickly acclimate to energy disturbances that the Force creates when being channeled,” the nameless monk explains. 

Din approaches quietly from behind, the now sleepy green bug secure in his arms along with my cuisse.

I turn and a warm grin breaks upon my lips at my family. I shift back and peer into the Togruta's blue eyes. 

_I have a million more questions, like:_

_Why had it taken so long for my powers to be expressed?_

_Does she know Kar can heal using the Force? That I maybe can as well?_

_What are all the things the Force can do? Limitations?_

_But I don't want to overstay my welcome and offend her._

"Thank you. Thank you for your help," I don't know her name, but I don't need to know it to be grateful to her.

"You are welcome," she nods once, smiling, then turns to continue toward her wooded home. "Tomorrow, here again at dawn," she directs over her shoulder.

\------‐-----------------------‐-‐‐

I reattach my cuisse and Din cradles Kar close to his chest as we head back to camp. The warm late afternoon sun shimmers through the thick, emerald foliage which flutters in the sweet mountain breeze, creating a peaceful static sound, akin to the soothing fall of water. I watch in complete saccharine adoration as he hums an unfamiliar tune, soft and low, to his precious ad'ika, beckoning the little one's eyelids to grow heavier and heavier.

Soft snores soon sound from the small green bundle snuggled into his cowl as we reach sight of the camp. 

"Maybe you could hum me to sleep tonight?" I lean over and whisper, feeling the heat radiate from him and hearing the gentle, rhythmic rustling of his armor as he strolls.

"You heard me?" he exhales, feeling warmth spread over his cheeks and chest.

"It's sweet. You're a great father. It's so natural to you." I bump affectionately into his side, a little more vigorously than anticipated.

A pained grunt escapes his helm. My pauldron had hit _just_ the right area. 

_Haar’chak_ , he curses to himself.

“I didn’t hit you _that_ hard, did I?” My eyes now lock onto him, scrutinizing his body movement.

“Just a tender spot,” he further incriminates himself.

“Din...I’m sorry. That’s where I had clobbered you with a stone isn’t it?” my worried aquamarine gaze burrows into the side of his visor as we reach the edge of camp.

“It’s fine, just a bruise,” he dismisses, continuing to look straight forward.

_Knowing how he downplays things, it might be a nasty hematoma._

“Well, I’d like to assess just to be certain,” I persist.

He knows I am like a Loth wolf with a fresh carcass now and won’t leave it alone.

“Fine, but how about after dinner?” he sighs, dark glass shifting over to my pale face. 

_She’s lucky I love her so_ , he muses.

“Deal.” I nod with arms folded, feeling a small jolt of glee I got my way.

Kar wakes up as Din dips into our tent to gather some food and I wait outside.

The Mandalorian turns and hands me the little gremlin, still groggy from his cat nap, along with a small sack of food.

“Gonna build a fire for tonight,” he explains, slipping past and heading to a neat pile of firewood that had appeared overnight. 

_He had been bust last evening_ , I surmise.

Kar and I watch from our seated position as he strategically arranges logs and branches into the firepit and ignites the wood with his vambrace flamethrower. I wash both my and Kar’s hands with some sanitizer from my bag.

Din saunters over and lowers himself next to us on the makeshift bench: A fallen log. 

“Boooeerrrrrr,” Kar greets his father just before I give him a small bite of a protein bar, watching that he doesn't choke.

I offer the next morsel to Din. He doesn’t fully remove his helmet as it’s still light and we’re in the open, but he lifts it far enough to allow me to stuff some food into his face. 

Kar takes his turn feeding Din too as I eat, but with trail mix instead and the Beskar man makes adorable “nom nom nom” noises that send the child squealing in laughter (and me as well). 

_He's such a great father_ , I smile, feeling a velvet happiness swell within my chest.

“Who needs a petting zoo when you have such a hungry Mandalorian?” I giggle.

With that statement, he allows his helmet to drop back down, and growls. He feigns attacking us by scooping us into his arms and lifting me along with the kid onto his lap, pretending to eat both of us.

During the chaos, I accidentally bump into his abdomen and it elicits from him another pained grunt. 

He tries to continue his charade, but I poke the area again, this time with three rigid fingers, and he flinches. 

_Knew it - another area I had injured with a stone!_

“Tent now,” I order.

He looks at Kar’s wide eyes and then my serious ones and knows there’s no more delaying.

"You heard your mother," he defeatedly sighs, gathering us up and carrying us over to the tent.

“Din!” I protest, but the little one just eggs him on with a flurry of happy giggles and the metalhead continues plodding on his way.

“I’m fine, Hal’ika,” he maintains, as he dips inside the tent and effortlessly lowers us onto the sleeping mat, his lean muscles shifting beneath his undersuit.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” I shift upward and shuffle to place Kar into his pod. He’s a little fussy but after handing him his stethoscope and windhound plush, he settles down. We leave the pram open for now. 

I turn back to Din, firelight dancing over his armor in the fading light as he stoically stares at me.

“Shirt off and lay down,” I instruct straight-faced as I motion him to rest on the mat.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re bossy?” his helm tilts to one side, as he slowly starts disconnecting his vambraces, maintaining a teasing glare from behind his dark glass.

“All the time - I’m surprised you haven’t yet.” I brusquely cross my arms, watching his methodical disrobing process.

“Oh, I’ve thought it. In fact, within ten minutes of meeting you, I discerned as much,” he playfully prods back as his cuirass comes loose and he sets it onto the pile.

“So you knew what you were getting into,” I smugly toss my comeback, prepping my internal scanner. 

He chuckles as he shucks the final layer of undersuit off, over his helmet, a little clumsier than usual and favoring his right arm. The nasty bruises now on his body have me feeling guilty. 

“That I did, and I don’t regret it one bit,” he smirks, semi-delirious from lack of sleep - he’s been up for nearly a full day on Naboo (28 standard hours) as our lesson today had lasted much much longer than the first.

“Alright, smooth talker, on the mat,” I kneel down and pat the surface twice. My eyes shift to find Kar looking very sleepy.

“Yes, Dr. Djarin,” he smirks again, positioning himself on the sleeping pad. He winces as he tugs at the deep purple and blue fist-sized bruise on his right arm.

 _I've gone soft if a bruise pains me this much,_ he thinks to himself _. But gods, I don't mind the attention._

“Gods, I hit you good. I’m so sorry Din,” I croon, grazing my fingers over the two dark, deep contusions on his abdomen, sending his muscles fluttering at the sheer contact.

“You have forceful....uh Force capabilities,” he huffs a stunted laugh. “You can aptly defend yourself with mere rocks.” He tries to turn it into a compliment. In fact, he’s quite proud I can pack such a nasty wallop.

I fuss over the worst-looking bruise on his arm, scanning it just to be sure there isn’t a hematoma or deeper tissue damage such as to the bone. Satisfied it’s just a nasty, very deep bruise, I apply a bacta patch from my medic bag. 

“Looks like the little Padawan is tuckered out,” I ascertain, glancing again to check on Kar and finding him fast asleep in his pod. I shift and grab Din’s vambrace to close him in and then return to my patient.

“He had a big day,” Din mutters, taking a yawning breath, his bare ribs expanding to full capacity and then contracting. 

I take note the abdominal bruising isn't impairing his respirations in any way.

His visor is positioned just well enough to watch as I move to assess the two deep purple-blue, Calamari flan-sized bruises on the RLQ of his abdomen. I scan just to ensure no deeper damage resides and nothing abnormal is visualized. I mist some bacta over the area and call it good.

“Finished,” I smile up at his dark glass.

He feels incredibly spoiled, having his wife dote over mere bruises. 

“Vor entye, ner mesh’la baar’ur,” he sleepily mumbles in Mando’a, feeling much more comfortable as bacta seeps into his injuries. 

Stashing away my scanner, I smile, wondering what it means, but then I recall the other hard hit he had taken today.

“Should I take a look at your testicles too?” I lean toward his helm, completely serious, resting my hand at the crook of his neck as he lies supine, propped up on his elbows.

His chest flushes a hot red at the direct question as his nervous pulse rushes beneath my fingertips. His brain still can't help but short circuit at such things falling from my lips, even if it comes from a deeply ingrained place of my professional habit.

He clears his throat. 

"No need. I think I'd end up needing more than a look anyway," he leans up to me, lifting his helmet just enough to expose his scruffy, shortly-bearded chin and full, needy lips.

I let him hang for a moment, watching his rabid jugular pulse surge and stutter beneath the silken, olive skin of his neck. His larynx jumps as he nervously swallows and a smirk forms upon his lips, carving an endearing dimple into his right cheek.

_I'd be lying if I say I don't enjoy teasing him a little._

"Mesh'la," his husky, unmodulated voice pleads.

I put us both out of our suffering and dip, our lips connecting with greedy, delirious passion. 

My nose bumps against the bottom edge of his helm, which remains lifted just enough to expose what is required for our current endeavors. I trail my kisses lower and down his prickly chin, his helmet falling back down into place as I aim excruciatingly delicate attention to his stammering carotid pulse.

An almost strangled sound slips from his helmet, rumbling in his throat and vibrating against my lips.

“Mesh’la,” he gutturally purrs, which only further ignites my passion for him, making me feel light-headed and breathless.

Featherlight, my lips glance across both his clavicles and tenderly down his sternum to his thumping heart. I continue coursing lower, down his lean abdomen to where the hair grows thicker.

I lift my head for his permission, but he’s very still and completely recumbent now, no longer propped upon his forearms. 

“Din?” I ask softly, coming up to look into his visor. 

_Is he playing dead again?_

Then my ear catches the soft, faint snores from his helmet. 

He’s asleep.

 _Duh, Halarys - he hasn’t slept in like over a day._

I watch his chest rise and fall in measured fashion, momentarily hypnotized by the predictable, gentle, organic motion.

 _Sleep together tonight?_ I ask myself rhetorically, as I detach my Beskar pieces to join his side. Daylight has nearly faded away outside, and so is the fire.

I step outside and replenish the fire’s fuel from Din’s wood pile, mimicking his stacking technique, and its waning flames grow vigorous once again. 

I dip back inside the tent and join his side as gently as I can. He stirs slightly and his uninjured left arm instinctively wraps around me, holding me securely against his powerful, warm body. My hand finds its way over his heart, which plays soft and low. I drift into a restful sleep, safe in his arms, thankful he's a wonderful husband and the greatest father to Kar in the galaxy.

\---------------------------------------------

** Mando’a Vocab **

**Ad’ika** : Son, in this context 

**Buir:** Father (or mother) - context determines 

**Cyar’ika:** Sweetheart, darling

 **Haar’chak:** Damn it

 **Jate:** Good 

**Skraan:** Food

 **“Vor entye, ner mesh’la baar’ur”:** Thank you, my beautiful healer/medic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, lovelies <3 The next installment might come before July 15th, but work at the hospital is starting to ramp up again and I might not have as much free-time, so I wanted to give myself plenty of time to write and not disappoint! I hope you still enjoy the story and thank you for leaving kudos - it makes my day to see someone else read my cruddy writing <3
> 
> Love you all,  
> -Foxlace


	33. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XXXIII: Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When one chapter ends, another begins.

I'm making a cake in the food synthesizer. It's looking and smelling wonderful.

_Wait...what again is it for?_

...

_Oh yes!! To celebrate our wedding anniversary. That's right!_

_Is it already our one-year?_

_No…it can't be..._

_It's like a 6-month or something. Yes, that's what it is!_

_Wow, already half a standard year as Din's wife._

I look back into the cargo bay and the cake is already on the table.

_Wait...when did we buy a table?_

...

_Oh, Din must've bought or made it...or perhaps it had been in storage?_

_Oh well, the cake looks great on it. It's like a spice cake, I think...a Mandalorian recipe!_

_My memory is lethargic...but the celebratory treat looks decadent and scrumptious._

I glance around.

_Where's Din? Why is he not inside the ship?_

_Right...he's on a bounty…he should be back soon. I think he's been gone nearly an entire standard day!_

I turn back and spot Kar on the table, reaching to the dessert. 

"Kar, you little bug! We have to wait for daddy to return," I snicker.

I pluck him away from the dessert, and he seems heavier than normal as he squirms and chirps in my arms.

"Buir will be back soon," I repeat to the hungry little one.

"Hal'ika," a familiar baritone sounds from over my shoulder.

I twirl to the handsome voice and shiny Beskar fills my vision.

_Din!_

_How did I miss his entrance?_

"Happy six month wedding anniversary, my handsome riduur!" I say graciously to Din. "We made a special cake." 

_Then I realize our son is no longer in my arms - he must have slipped away..._

_Wait...I see him now, in the corner playing with his stuffed animals near the weapon locker._

I turn back to my husband, ready to help clean him up. He looks a bit dusty from his endeavors.

"Let's get you out of that dirty armor," I look him up and down, also assessing for any obvious wounds, but thankfully he looks unscathed.

"Hal'ika, with the kid watching?" he teases, stepping forward to claim his well-earned affection.

I chuckle at his joke, and work to help him with his larger Beskar pieces.

I then notice a tall figure looming behind him. I can't quite make it out - its features are hazy, dark, and blurry in the shadows. _But I can feel it...angry, ravenous, filling my gut with hollowness and devouring breath from my lungs. It's like a blackhole._

_An arm raises with a wicked blade. Or is it a lightsaber?_

"Din! Behind you!"

Din swiftly turns, but he doesn't respond quick enough. The blade falls, stabbing downward into his upper chest.

"No!!!!"

I cannot move. My legs won't work.

"Din!" my voice is small, shrinking. "Din!" barely any sound escapes past my lips.

Din punches the shadowed figure, knocking it back with great force, almost like nothing had just pierced deep into his thoracic cavity…

_Or maybe the blade had missed him? But how?_

The entity stumbles out of sight.

.

.

.

Now we're outside. It's daylight, very bright, yet hazy, and sandy.

Din stands a distance from me, body tensed, and his visor directed at something to his side.

The ominous, brawny figure from before reappears and lunges, knocking Din backward. He almost loses his balance in the sand, but promptly steadies himself. 

The blade's handle protrudes from my husband's right chest. 

_He had been hit!_

"Din!" I try to yell, but my voice is distant, hollow. "Din!"

I try to stop the figure with the Force, holding out my hands. 

The nondescript, impossibly dark being turns and looks at me.

I try to focus my energy to push it back.

_Nothing happens._

I try again.

It steps toward me.

_My powers are useless._

It keeps walking, long shadowy arms reaching out to me. I feel my energy waning, but it's more than that. _It's as though it's being drained from me._

The inky black figure continues closer.

"Din!" I croak for help. "Din!"

Din yanks the weapon from his flesh and throws it at the assailant, flashing red. But the shadowy figure catches it from behind midair with bone-chilling effortlessness.

_It's a red lightsaber!_

Din comes at it again at full speed.

But he's not fast enough...

The figure swerves and pivots, grabbing Din from the back around his arms, overpowering him. In an instant, the wicked blade reappears - this time a vibroblade. In a fluid, well-practiced motion of its wrist, the sharpness slides deep across Din's throat.

I cannot move. The scream in my lungs is trapped. I watch in horror as Din falls, limp, blood spurting from the dark fabric on his neck, drenching the hot, white sand a deep rouge.

"Din!" my voice suddenly escapes my throat at full volume. I fall toward him and keep falling, never reaching the ground. "Din!" I choke out, but to no avail.

_He's nowhere._

Then I land.

But there's just blood and sand where I kneel. Din is gone.

Emotions overwhelm me, like a dark, soaked cloak heavily dragging me down into a pit of despair, snuffing out any flicker of hope. It makes my muscles weak and useless, draining my will to live. 

_I feel trapped. I cannot move._

I hear it laugh.

The figure. _I know it's here._

I turn.

A red blade surges. Then disappears.

The guttural laugh comes from over my shoulder and I spin.

Blackness lunges at me.

In an instant, everything goes hazy, dim. The pull to sleep is overwhelming.

.

.

.

Suddenly, I'm back on the Crest, in bed. Din's there beside me, laying on his side, facing away, completely undressed. 

"Din!" I reach to his strong shoulder, slightly confused at the scene change. 

It must've been a nightmare.

He gently rolls onto his back, eyes peacefully closed, and his muscled arms reach for me to come close.

"Cyar'ika," he mumbles, his eyes flickering open, rekindling my happiness.

I peer into his dark brown irises. 

_He's here. He's fine._

I reach to caress his face, but as I do, my eye catches something off.

.

.

.

_Something's wet._

.

.

.

_Red._

.

.

.

_Blood._

.

.

.

_His throat! It's cut!_

"Din!" I'm stunned, mortified at the sight. 

_This cannot be!_

"Hal'ika, what's wrong?" he says softly, running his fingers through my hair.

"You're hurt, your throat," I reach to apply pressure as it starts to gush.

"I'm fine. It's just a nick," he hushes, but as he speaks, warm, thick maroon seeps even more vigorously down his neck onto his bare chest, despite my hands. 

_Heal, I need to heal you. I need to heal you!_

He's losing too much blood and too quickly.

 _Please heal!_ I beg the Force to help, but I feel nothing. There's not even the faintest brush of static energy over my skin. 

"It hurts," he rasps, his face distorted in pain and fear.

"Din, it's going to be ok. I'll heal you," I reassure, hands struggling to maintain pressure against the slick warmth coursing and escaping beneath my palms.

"I feel cold," he gurgles, his life's red fluid now sputtering from his mouth, coating his lips and trickling from the corner of his mouth down the side of his face. 

He gasps for air and I feel the suction against my hand. His trachea has been severed...blood is pouring into his lungs. I can hear the wet rasping of his ragged breaths. 

_It’s a sick race between suffocation and exsanguination._

The glint of life in his eyes starts to fade and the olive tint of his skin quickly drains to an ashen hue. 

_He's bleeding out._

"Stay with me!" I frantically plead.

I try to will the wound to heal, but I'm panicking. _No tools I have can save him!_ The Force is the only hope _. Focus Halarys! Focus!_

Blood continues to creep. Each fearful, shuddering heartbeat inching him toward his death.

 _Please work!_ I scold my stupid hands. _Why are they not healing?_

"Din, hold on!" I press my palms harder into his neck. 

His dark brown eyes just stare, unresponsive.

_Please heal!!_

Warm, red liquid continues to gush under my grip. 

_I'm losing him!_

"Din! Hey look at me!"

Tears burn in my eyes as more blood drenches our bed. _It's like I'm swimming in it, drowning._

The blood beneath my palms stills, his pulse no longer detectable.

He stares lifeless at me. It's unmistakable. 

My hands are slick with _it_ \- proof of _it_. 

Anguish fills my senses. 

_No. No! No! This cannot be happening!_

"Din!" I run my hand up to his stilled, pale face, his blood smearing along his cheek. "Please!" 

He doesn't move. 

I'm suffocating.

_I failed. I couldn't do it. I couldn't heal him._

I allowed the love of my life to die.

.

.

.

_Din is dead._

.

.

.

All I see and feel is darkness. 

And its laughter revels in my all-consuming anguish.

\----------------------------

"Halarys, wake up." My heart is clamoring to help her, as I prop us upward and hold her against my chest. "Halarys!" I squeeze her gently in my arms. 

She's crying out...mumbling something, her brow is furrowed and warm tears leak from her dark lashes against my skin. It looks like a night terror. I frantically pry off my helmet to see her better. 

"Hal'ika!" I hold her precious form tight against me, craning my neck to monitor her. "Halarys, please wake up." I gently stir her again.

Her eyes flicker open. 

"Hal'ika," I hush.

She starts crying, her features contorting in anguish, shadows from the firelight exaggerating her torment.

"Din," her warm, hiccuping breath glances over my chest.

"Shhhh, cyar'ika. I have you. You're safe," I comfort her as best as I can. _I'm not good at it - the emotions and words - but I will always try my best - for her._

She starts hyperventilating and trembling within my embrace. It tears at my very kar'ta, sharper and deeper than any knife. I hug her closer, running my hand over her soft hair. 

She gasps and chokes through tears, struggling for air. My heart aches, searching for a way to help.

"Breathe with me, cyar'ika. Just breathe…follow my breath, focus on it," I plead into her floral-scented hair.

Through sobbing breaths, she presses her cheek tight against my sternum and I hold her like I'll never let her go. I try to calm her by metering deep, slow respirations, something my buir had taught me when I was fresh to the Kryze clan and had been suffering from nightmares, reliving my parents' recent deaths. 

"Breathe with me, cyare," I coax, but my thundering, aching heart isn't helping. I know she can hear my distress. 

"It's ok," I croon into her hair. "It's ok." I take long, purposeful breaths, lulling her to calmer waters and feeling my pulse gradually slow.

The crying slowly fades into sniffles. My chest is thoroughly wetted by her sorrow, seeping deep beneath the surface and nourishing seeds of sympathy in my heart. 

_My poor mesh'la._

"It's ok," I feel her breath which has now grown calm and rhythmic over my chest.

"You were dead," she abruptly speaks, her sweet voice raw and hoarse with grief.

I wrap my arms around her a little tighter as my pulse jumps at the reason for her pain.

"It's ok, I'm alive. I'm here, cyar'ika," I say softly into her silvery hair, pressing a gentle kiss onto her crown. 

She buries her head over my kar'ta. I can feel it throb against her cheek, convincing her I'm among the living.

Her breathing calms again. 

"Cyar'ika, do you want to talk about it?" I look down to her, studying her movements. She's no longer quivering in my arms, but instead tense. 

_This is the second night in a row she has suffered nightmares. Perhaps it might help her to share. It had sometimes helped me. I_ _'m lucky my nightmares have mostly stopped and lessened in severity. In fact, they've become exceedingly sparse since she's come into my life._

There's more than a few moments of silence save for the dying, crackling fire outside and chirps of frogs. I feel her steady breaths over my dampened skin.

_It's ok if she doesn't want to share._

"You were in a fight...," she breaks the silence, shifting to look up at me.

I nod, gazing into her tear-reddened, soul-piercing eyes, encouraging her to continue. _That sounds like something that would happen._

She reaches to touch my neck, fingertips gingerly glancing over the sensitive skin. My breath hitches at the delicate contact.

"They cut your throat. I tried to save you...but my powers...t-they wouldn't w-work. I c-couldn't save you," thick emotion starts to creep back into her sore voice and tears brim along her lower lashes.

I swallow hard, feeling my heart quicken, concerned for her and striving desperately to steal away her sadness.

"It was just a bad dream," I say as she continues running her skilled hands over my neck, no doubt feeling my bounding pulse. "See, there's no injury."

She gazes up into my eyes, caressing my face, tears welling in her striking eyes, eyes full of sorrow and concern, which sends a pang of grief into my chest.

I gently reach for one of her petite, healing hands and guide it to my _kar'ta_. 

"It's ok cyar'ika. I won't let anything like that happen. I promise," my own voice crackles with unexpected emotion. I press her hand more firmly against my sternum, knowing she can feel its sincerity beat against her palm, saying what my words cannot fully express. I don't know how else to prove to her that I'm not going to leave her. At least not on purpose or out of recklessness, as we both know it's a promise I cannot fully guarantee. But I promise I won't take any unnecessary risks; no, not with my _aliit_. 

Suddenly, she dips and kisses me, catching me off-guard and my pulse spikes.

Her lips crash against mine, impassioned and wonton. Veins thrum like I'm suddenly running through sand, sprinting at the sudden intimate contact.

She pulls away, her lips pink and swollen, and lashes tainted with drying tears as she peers lovingly into my eyes.

"M-mesh'la," I stutter, bewildered and breathless. She makes my thoughts turn to sludge. 

She leans into me, pushing me to lay fully recumbent. My muscles turn to liquid under her touch and she nuzzles close, resting her cheek against my heated chest.

She puffs a laugh and I shift my head to peek down on her, mind still befuddled.

"Sounds like I got you excited," she taps over my heart and then traces its shape, making its rhythm falter.

"Mmmmmmm," I hum, holding her a little tighter. A half-grin comes to my face. "And I think you're proud of that fact, cyar'ika."

That line earns a chuckle. _She finds me funny._

"Guilty," she chortles.

A smirk breaks upon my lips. 

"Well, since your guilt has been decided…," I clear my throat, and lower my voice, "I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold." 

_I couldn't resist._

She pops her head up, gazing at me, her eyes flash with devious thoughts and a large grin breaks upon her face 

"Oh yeah, big bad bounty hunter? You gonna cuff me?" she languidly drags her fingertips from my chest down over my core, increasingly solidifying my desire with each hurried heartbeat her touch commands. My pants quickly grow much less comfortable.

I swallow hard around a lump in my throat - she is adept at making base bodily functions exceedingly difficult (breathing and maintaining a steady heart rate, namely). I deeply inhale to counter her question.

"Only if you fight or make it difficult," I exhale through a grunt, shifting my legs to resituate, but she quickly wraps her leg around mine to keep me from squirming.

"I think you're the one who might need restraining," her voice is sultry and teasing. 

_She's feeling better._

_The thought of placing binders on her seems rude and cruel, but the thought of her placing them on me...my heart stills in my chest before leaping against my ribs at such a scenario._

"How about I bring you in -," she starts dipping below my belt to my -

"Krrrrrrrrr!" the pod declares.

"Uh oh, Kar is awake," she snickers, promptly withdrawing her hand and then shifting to get up.

I breathe deeply to help quell the lightheadedness and high of near-intimacy.

As she gets up to deal with our _ad'ika_ , I grab my vambrace to open the pram. It's nearing dawn given the readings on its display.

"We should get going to the waterfall soon, Hal'ika," I suggest, hunching over in the tent and trying to hide the one currently formed in my pants.

She turns with Kar in her arms and nods.

I reach to my upper flight suit, desperately trying to distract my thoughts from her touch. 

_It is going to be a long morning._

"Let me remove that first," she says, walking over, gesturing to the bacta pad on my arm. The little one chirps.

I nod, standing still as she runs her fingers around the edges and then rips it off with a quick flick of her wrist.

I look down, surprised to find the large bruise no longer resides. She tenderly grazes her touch over the healed area.

"Good as new," I quirk my brow and flex the muscle, her physical contact only fueling my desire for her again.

She runs her hand over the bicep, as if impressed. _I’m not completely out of shape...yet._

"Boooeer," Kar reaches for my bare face, making my _kar’ta_ jump at the use of Mando'a and just the distraction I need.

I lean in, his sharp little claws gently mapping out my features as he coos. I lean my forehead to his, the soft, short fuzz like velvet against my skin and equally as satin to my soul.

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum," I whisper to him, before pulling away.

"Booeer," he repeats and Halarys smiles widely, a smile that makes my heart sing.

"Alright, let's let daddy get dressed," her lovely voice lilts to our son. "Let's have breakfast!"

As she busies herself with feeding Kar, I shift away and quickly dress. With some spare time, I check that my _beskar'gam_ is functioning properly, polishing some dirty areas. Half-satisfied with the abbreviated maintenance and starving for my _mesh'la riduur_ before me, I reattach the Beskar pieces to the flight suit, daydreaming about how I cannot wait to remove them later on. 

_Does she know that she fills nearly all of my thoughts?_

She draws near with the well-fed kid.

"Are you still feeling better?" I ask her just as I'm about to slip on my bucket.

"Yes, much better," she says, leaning in to steal a quick, yet sensuous kiss. She then crams a mouthful of protein bar past my lips before I can lower my helmet. 

_I cherish the feel and taste of her plush lips against mine more than anything - they never fail to steal my kar'am...and they're much, much better tasting than the protein bar._

"Thank you, Din," she brightly smiles at me in what looks like adoration.

_Perhaps I'm not as terrible of a riduur as I could be..._

\----------------------------------

"Instead of rocks, I thought we'd graduate to more realistic weapons," the Togruta hints at today's lesson, a twinkle in her eyes.

"Kar is sitting this one out," I decide in a split-nanosecond, glancing over to Din who holds our son close.

"That is for the best," the monk agrees.

"What exactly do you have in mind?" I ask.

She smirks, then her attention shifts to my husband.

"It's a great honor you possess such a weapon, Mandalorian," she gestures at the sabre's hilt tucked into his belt. "The Darksaber is an important symbol of Mandalore."

Din stiffens a little, but doesn't disagree.

I look to him, brow furrowed in confusion - _I hadn't known its cultural significance._ Din had never mentioned anything special about it...but come to think of it, he had never shown much interest in it at all, almost as though he had been avoiding it. I had just chalked it up to 'finders keepers' since I had claimed it from Gideon. _Maybe it's difficult for him to talk about if it's so symbolic?_

_And here I've been using it like a glorified utility knife...I hope I haven't been too disrespectful..._

Without warning, the monk Force-snatches the Darksaber's hilt from Din's belt, earning from Din a mildly protesting grunt. She insists we practice.

I suddenly feel inadequate to hold such an important symbol, and feel a pang of dread in my gut, thinking back to my nightmare the night before last... _the one where I'd stabbed Din's heart with that very blade_.

_Maybe it's best if I stay away from it._

Before I know it, she's placing the handle in my hands.

"It's similar to a lightsaber. Both draw its energy from a living kyber crystal within," she explains.

"Living?" I furrow my brow, trying to understand. _So that's why I feel something when I hold it._

"Hold it like so," she directs, adjusting my grip upon the angled handle, the blade not yet activated. 

"Din -," I look at him for permission to continue. I feel bad for all the times of having used it without his blessing.

"It's ok," he nods once. "You should practice."

But it still doesn't feel right. The hilt feels heavier in my hands than ever before.

"Spread your feet apart as such," she demonstrates in front of me. 

I glance at Din again and he nods for me to continue as he sets fussy Kar down to explore the underfauna.

Din seems to be fine with it, but I'm not so sure. 

The monk looks at me and nods in encouragement. I reluctantly attempt to replicate the second-nature-for-her stance.

"You’re getting there; just bend your knees slightly more," she critiques.

I adjust my posture as so, trying to focus on her directions and not the uncertain feeling brimming in my core.

"Good! Now we're going to work on Form One, basic training. You will learn to disarm without seriously maiming or killing your foes, and parry projectiles. I figure as a physician, Nightsister, you will appreciate this tactic," she smiles.

I nod. _Nonlethal and defensive manoeuvres are appreciated._

"Go ahead and activate your weapon,” she instructs.

I stare at the handle for a few moments - I cannot explain, but I don’t feel like training with it is my path. 

“Activate the blade,” she insists. “Surely you know how to.”

I hit the touchy activation control on the hilt and the powerful, menacing blade emerges in a blink, staring at me judgmentally.

“Main targets are the body and head," she briefly gestures to these areas on me. Then she pulls a blaster from her hip.

In a habitual reflex, Din has blaster his drawn and aimed at her in a blink.

"Din -," I glare at him to put it away. 

_I really do not like this training session so far._

His visor pans from the Togruta to me.

"Don’t worry, I have it set to five-percent of stun level," she declares.

"Din, it's ok," I insist. 

_I can't blame him for being cautious._

He slowly lowers and holsters the weapon, then shifts to watch Kar as he clumsily toddles through some ferns in pursuit of hopping insects.

"It will barely sting if it hits you," she elaborates. "You'll be blocking or parrying my shots." 

“I don’t know about this," my grip slackens on the hilt. I feel out of my league.

“Ready?”

“Not real-” 

My response is abruptly cut-off by a circular blue blaster shot that zaps and dissipates over my breastplate. Tiny electric arcs skitter to the armor's periphery, penetrating the fabric and shocking my skin. 

"Ouch!" I drop the blade to one hand and rub my breast. 

_It felt like a strong static shock._

“Halarys?” Din steps forward, his fists clenched at his sides. 

_I can tell he’s irked._

“See, it’s not pleasant to be hit, but it’s harmless,” the Togruta displays a devious smile in her eyes.

“Well, now I’m really not sure about this,” I look at the surging dark blade which makes me feel nervous, uneasy. 

_I don't think it likes me playing with it._

“We’re going to start with the defensive neutral position,” she instructs, withdrawing and activating her own lightsaber to demonstrate. “Hold your blade like so, on your dominant side, feet spaced evenly apart.” 

I hold the saber vertically and adjust. The blade randomly surges as if taunting me. 

“Good, Nightsister. This position provides the most efficient deflection as you’re maximizing the blade’s available surface area," she disengages her saber and reattaches its hilt to her belt.

"I'm still not sure about this," I say to her, watching as she grabs her blaster.

"Just focus on feeling the blade and use your reflexes and instincts to anticipate where to block."

"That's easier said than done," my brow furrows in semi-frustration at her seemingly vague advice. The blade sputters, mirroring my uncertain, anxious energy.

"Ready?" she aims the blaster.

"Woah how do I know what to do?"

"Trust yourself and the blade. Block!"

A blue shot comes at me, the blade surges as I jut it upward to shield my head, and I close my eyes.

.

.

.

_Nothing happens._

.

.

.

"Whuh?" I'm confused, as my eyes flutter open.

"I shot past you as a test," she explains, blaster pointed at the ground. "It never hit you or the blade." 

"Why?" 

_Is she messing with me?_

"To see if you're paying attention." Suddenly her weapon flies up and she fires at me.

Instinctively, I block with the blade and the stun blast is repelled into the ground.

She fires another, but this time it hits me in the arm and I almost drop the important Mandalorian symbol.

"Ow!" I glare at her indignantly. 

The saber sputters like a chuckle as if it's pleased I'd been hit. 

_Mean thing_ , I scowl at it. 

"You did well with that first shot," the monk congratulates.

"Honestly, I don’t feel that this is right." I look down at the bluish-white veined black blade in my grasp. "The Darksaber is not meant for me - it does not belong in my hands. It has already provided me with the help I’ve needed," I confess, slightly surprised at how quickly the words are expressed from my mouth...it’s almost as though the blade is speaking for itself.

_But I'm clumsy with it and feel the hesitation of the crystal within. Surely she can feel my struggle as well. I know it belongs with a Mandalorian - a true Mandalorian who has sworn the Creed._

She stares at me, then the ground. 

The Togruta knows I'm no Jedi. Perhaps saber training had been just a self-projection of her past-training, unnecessary for the Force-sensitive individual in front of her.

"As you wish, Nightsister," she bows in agreement.

I power-off the blade and walk over to hand it back to Din. 

\----------------

Of course Din had heard of the Darksaber. But he'd never actually seen it in-person before Gideon. He'd known of it mostly through whispers and stories during his time in Bo-Katan Kryze's splinter group of Death Watch as a foundling, before he had fallen in with the Tribe. (Unbeknownst to Din, Bo-Katan had later come into possession of it.)

He'd had a fairly good idea it was the legendary blade when he'd first seen it in Gideon's grimy hands - afterall, the man who's obsessed with Halarys' mother had been involved in the Great Purge of Mandalore, and it was entirely feasible that he might possess the important heirloom. But he had denied and avoided it - it was far too much. 

The monk had dissolved any remaining doubt and he could no longer ignore or deny it: The symbol and weapon of the _Mand'alor_ is and has been in his care. 

_It really is the Darksaber_ , he thinks, his pulse hammering and vision narrowing.

And as it currently rests in his open palm, its weight almost feels too heavy. A thick knot of shame and utter unworthiness ties itself snugly into his gut. 

He knows it doesn't belong in his grasp. 

It belongs to a leader. Someone who can bravely unite _Mando'ade_.

But his Tribe is mostly gone. Mandalorians are mostly extinct. His heart twinges with guilt at the thought.

_Mostly. But not entirely._

_Rallo's Clan and The Armorer…_

An idea strikes him.

\------------------------

As Din stares pensively at the blade, I inquire about Kar’s and my healing abilities.

Her ornate markings furrow in deep contemplation, her eyes studying the mossy terra. She seems a bit perplexed.

After a few moments she looks up.

"It's an exceedingly rare ability. I'm afraid I've never seen it personally and know even less about it than you do," she honestly admits. "I'm sorry I cannot be of assistance."

_Rare? I don't feel any pride, but rather aloneness at learning this, especially after the terrible dream I had last night, being incapable of healing Din._

"Are you certain there's nothing you know?"

"I'm afraid not. And those who might know…," she looks away, her eyes clouded with grief. "Are gone."

"Are there other Force-abilities?" I change the subject.

Vigor returns to her eyes.

"There is one more thing I think I might be able to teach," she contemplates, looking down at the ground with a sly grin on her face.

“What would that be?” I lean slightly toward her, curious what she has to say.

Her eyes shift back to mine.

“Force persuasion.”

"You mean like mind-control?" I quirk a brow.

"Kind of, but more gentle," she smirks.

"It doesn't work on other Force-users, but on non-sensitive individuals," she looks at Din.

"I can't do that to my husband," I spit out. _Or can I?_

"What can't you do to me?" Din walks up from behind, carefully holding Kar, who has very muddy hands and feet.

I chuckle at the sight.

The Togruta stands directly in front of the Beskar-clad man, montrals affording her a few inches in height on him. He tenses up.

"You want to give me your blaster," she says calmly, whilst waving a hand over his visor.

"Like hells I do," he growls.

"You want to hand over your blaster," she repeats, again waving her hands.

"The only thing I'm giving you is five seconds to back away from me and my son," he grumbles annoyedly at her display.

"Din!" I scold his rude reply.

"It only works on more simple minds. That's a compliment, Mandalorian," she turns from him and huffs.

Din tilts his helmet as if not satisfied by her response.

"So I just wave my hand and try to compel the subject to do as I wish?" I inquire.

"More or less," she smiles. "You try to state it as though it's their idea."

I grin to myself at the thought. _It might be quite useful in certain situations._

"Is there anything else I should...we should know about the Force?" I query.

She smiles, blue eyes momentarily flashing up at the clear mid-morning sky then back at me.

"I think I've taught as much as I can, Nightsister. Remember, resist using anger, hatred and other strong emotions to draw the Force. This is the fault of the dark side. Try to remain calm and controlled. Continue to practice and progress to throwing and blocking larger and faster projectiles and strive for deeper meditation. You have great potential."

She motions her head, montrals pointing at Kar in Din's arms. "You must also continue to teach the little one as he matures," she says. "He is and will be extraordinarily powerful."

Her words strike me to my marrow. The way she states it is as though he'll fulfill some prophecy. I glance back at her.

"We will. Thank you for your help…, monk," I smile, grateful for her assistance. _I can't help but feel as though a hundred more questions have formed in the back of my mind, but not even a single one materializes._

"You are welcome," she's tempted to slip her name, but decides it's best she continues the anonymity for everyone's sake, especially since the Force-obsessed remnant Empire still exists. Perhaps if they cross paths again she might properly introduce herself.

She turns, flipping over her hood.

\----------------------

Teaching us has reminded her of something important: It's ok to ask for help. 

Her search doesn't have to be solo. And perhaps now is the time to stop seeking impossible answers in the hidden Jedi temple on Naboo and instead venture for assistance. 

An artistic Mandalorian comes to mind. 

_She needs help finding Ezra Bridger._

\-----------------------

The monk walks away with a determined gait, disappearing into the leafy thicket.

"Well, _that_ was an experience," I chuckle. 

_We had actually trained with a skilled Force-user. Pinch me._

“Do you feel like a Jedi now?” he humorously cocks his helmet.

“Definitely. Albeit, a very minimally trained Jedi, but with a wonderful family,” I poke Kar's little nose, making him giggle.

“She did a great job in the limited time she had offered," Din earnestly attests. 

"Didn't pass her three day trial I guess. Oh well," I scuffle the kid's ears, earning a giggle. "Where to next, besides the ‘fresher?" I poke his mud-caked toes.

His visor shifts to my face for a moment and then drops down to his waist.

"I don't feel this is rightfully ours," he gingerly rests his leather clad palm upon the Darksaber. "But I think I know who the rightful owner is." A hidden, warm smile forms upon his lips and tinges his voice.

He knows exactly who is worthy of such an honor.

\---------------------------

** Mando'a Definitions **

**Aliit** : Family

 **Buir:** Mother or father (Kar enunciates as "boooeerr", in reference to Din - Halarys doesn’t use the term as much so he hasn’t associated it with her) 

**Cyare:** Beloved

 **Cyar'ika:** Sweetheart

 **Kar'am:** Breath

 **Kar'ta:** Heart or soul

 **Mand'alor:** Sole leader of the Mandalorians

 **Mando'ade:** Mandalorians, or the children of Mandalore

 **Mesh'la:** Beautiful 

**Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum:** I love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! It's different than some of the other chapters. I hope I didn't fail too badly with Din's POV. Would you like more Din's POV? I was thinking of doing more of the story moving forward in first-person Din! ❤
> 
> As always, thank you for reading ❤❤ Chapter releases are probably going to fall down to bimonthly to monthly for the time-being as my hours have increased at the hospital (which is good news).
> 
> Stay safe & healthy & remember to laugh & smile everyday 😊
> 
> To Din, Halarys, & Kar ❤🦋🎉


	34. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XXXIV: Shereshoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din enjoys some quality time with his riduur and ad'ika. (Written fully in Din's POV!)

"There's a shower on the Razor Crest, right?" she suddenly asks, eyeballing the dirt-coated kid resting snugly against my chest.

I turn my head and her undeniable eyes lock onto mine. A spark ignites deep within my chest, its pleasant warmth blooming upward and into my throat, siphoning a portion of my breath - she's always been able to reach beneath my visor...and it _still_ steals my _haal_. 

_But_ _is she serious she doesn't know?_

_I suppose I'd never given her a formal tour of the ship…_

I swallow hard.

"Yes, cyar'ika," I simply reply. 

_The refueling station in Theed had thankfully replenished the water tank during maintenance. There will be plenty to last the three of us at least a few months, maybe longer with the ultrafiltration water recycling system. Naboo water is also some of the best in the parsec and won't cause any buildup in the pipes, something I'm thankful for._

"That's great news," she says almost gleefully, breaking me from my thoughts, "because _he_ needs one." A large smile forms on her _racin_ face as she studies the dried muddy paws clinging to my cuirass. 

At least she's pleased with that information... _when she sees the shower she might not be so enthusiastic._

_It's small...and kriff, when's the last time I'd properly cleaned it?_

My mind's eye envisions sopping, bloody towels tossed in the corner from that surprise run-in with a decrepit Duros bounty hunter in a ridiculous hat...it was about a month before I'd tracked down the lead on Halarys and located her on Fara. 

_I'd cleaned up that mess, right?_

That was also the first time Kar had healed me - it had been a nasty, deep wound to the gut and the pain fairly excruciating. I likely would've died of sepsis if not of blood loss.

I peek down at the little womp rat cradled in my arm. 

_You've saved me too many times, kid,_ I think as he lazily mouths his Mythosaur pendant, large dark eyes studying my helmet.

"Boooooeeeerrr," he gurgles as if in response to my thoughts. A smile forms beneath my _buy'ce_.

As we continue the short walk back to camp, Halarys keeps glancing at me, a twinkle in her _meshurok_ eyes, for what, I'm uncertain. The kid contentedly rests in my arm, continuing to teethe on the special pendant and watching the forest surroundings pass by.

I feel hands suddenly rub along my ribs and look to find my bright-eyed _riduur_ smiling mischievously, making my _kar'ta_ flutter and veins flood with warmth. 

_I've never felt so...good. Not in my entire life_. I now understand what it feels like to truly experience _shereshoy_.

Kar coos as I shift his weight to my other arm to accommodate her affections as we walk. She slips her fingers along my abdomen, her other arm curling around my back to keep her braced to my gait - I sure as all hells can feel her touch despite the layers of fabric. 

"H-hal'ika," I stutter as she slips a delicate finger beneath the lip of my pants and my abdominal muscles reflexively twitch at the touch.

She giggles. "I'm just _really_ looking forward to our shower," she flashes her aquamarine eyes as she leans more of her weight into me, making me nearly veer to the side. 

I about choke on my own spit as my heart clenches hard at her statement.

"Krrrrrrrr," the little womp rat bleats.

I swallow around a lump in my throat, reminded of our wedding night and trying to ignore the longing quickly growing between my thighs.

"I very much enjoyed our last shower together," my voice cracks as her arm, curled behind my back, shifts downward - her hand runs over my backside and squeezes.

_Yep, pants are definitely getting uncomfortable now._

"Hal'ika," I cover the kid's ears and eyes as best I can. "I might need to place those binders on you afterall." 

_She's being very naughty - I know she enjoys flustering me._

She just squeaks a laugh, landing a brisk, stinging smack on my rear.

"Hal'ika!" I playfully growl, cheeks turning red beneath my helm (and also likely under my pants) from her deviousness. 

_I'd be lying to say I didn't secretly enjoy it...any attention from her, I'd happily take...but I'm embarrassed the kid's in my arms as she does it_. 

I abruptly turn to confront her very distracting, snickering face and she halts. 

_The way her nose scrunches and eyes crinkle at the corners and that smile_ \- _I enjoy seeing her happy_...

She seductively traces her fingers against my chestpiece and looks up into my eyes. My brain turns to putty. _I'm doomed._

_Haalur. Partayl haalur._

I clear my throat, swallowing the dizzying lump in my esophagus.

"Kaaartah!" our ad'ika chirps, patting his messy, small clawed hands against my cowl.

"Here, you take him. I think I need to keep your hands busy for awhile," I smirk, watching her eyes widen with motherly affection as the dirt-caked child grasps at her silvery white hair, soon to be brown.

"I _really_ will need a shower now," she chuckles, holding the filthy little womp rat who coos and quickly settles to burrow into her shoulder. He grasps her soft braid as if to study the intricate pattern.

_I never grow tired of watching them together._

_I know I never will._

An unexplained softness creeps into my bones and blood, concentrating heaviest in my _kar'ta_ . I've been feeling more and more of the feeling since I've discovered my _aliit_. And I never want the feeling to disappear.

As we continue back to camp, she sings some _very_ off-key renditions of classic songs. No adjustment to my helmet settings could make it less pitchy...hells, she might make a full-grown rancor whimper and retreat with some of the higher frequencies she reaches. Oh, but not me. My chest feels fuzzy and tight at how... _cute_...she can be. The kid seems to tolerate it too, despite his large ears. 

He glances over at me from his front row seat, large eyes burrowing into my visor. 

_She's an acquired taste, huh kid?_ I chuckle to myself.

When we near around 15 meters of our campsite, I more thoroughly scan the area - no threats or misplacements are apparent through the HUD. 

I head to begin breaking down the tent as Hal’ika and Kar go to have lunch amongst the ferns in the already warm summer day. I had to convince her that I didn't need help and insisted that she and the kid eat - his growling stomach had been audible even through my helmet without amplification.

As they enjoy lunch, I gather up the sliced tent canvas, cursing in my head that the monk had done such a thing. It will be annoying to repair, especially so because it will require a water-resistant seam. 

"Geeeeeep!!" A playful squeak from the kid grabs my attention. 

I watch for a few moments as Halarys makes goofy faces at Kar, giant fern leaves tucked into each side of her braided hair like ears as she pounces at him and he toddles away laughing. A chuckle of my own vibrates in my chest.

_Ner riddur, ner ad'ika. Ner aliit._

It will be good to wear him out so he sleeps on the long journey back to the ship. It had been around 6 hours of hiking to travel from the Crest to our campsite.

_In hindsight, I maybe could have landed closer._

As _ner riddur_ and _ad'ika_ continue to play, I scatter the leftover firewood into the surrounding woods and fill in the firepit in an attempt to cover most traces of our campsite in case anyone tries tracking. To be honest, I don't believe anyone is, but being cautious is a habit. Better safe than end up in a surprise blaster fight.

I then gather the other supplies, roll up our sleeping mat and fit it all back into the bags. Again sweeping the area for any threats with my HUD, I sling the handles over my shoulders and latch the Amban sniper rifle to my bandolier. I scoop up Halarys' bucket and the pram follows with a touch of the vambrace control. I turn to corral the rest of the clan, still at play amongst the ferns.

"Alright you womp rats, time to get on the trail so we reach the Crest before nightfall," I approach Halarys and the kid as they both giggle. 

It's almost midday already.

"You heard your _buir_ , time to bounce!" she leaps at him, scooping the squeaky, giggly tyrant into her arms. She proceeds to hop like a rabbit, the fern leaves as ears making a convincing case.

"Thanks for entertaining him," my lips curve into a smile.

"Thank you for packing...I’m sorry I didn’t help," she sheepishly grins, then her eyes drop to the _buy'ce_ in my hands. "Here, I can wear that so you needn’t carry, and I can take a bag," she approaches to set Kar down in his pram.

"You can take the helmet, but I have the bags. It will help me maintain my strength," I counter her offer. 

She glances at me, situating Kar with his toys and he goes bouncing them like Halarys.

"Oh yeah? What about _my_ strength?" she quirks a brow and then steps toward me, scrutinizing eyes immediately reaching mine. 

"I - I just want you to be comfortable, cyar'ika. It's a long way back," I swallow a lump in my esophagus as she steps excruciatingly close, looking up into my visor. One hand gently grasps my wrist as the other grabs the helmet from my hand. She then sneaks a soft fingertip to the exposed skin of my inner wrist, my pulse shuddering beneath her touch. 

_How can she turn me so...soft? I feel as though my beskar'gam is the only thing holding my shape together (with exception to one area that does the opposite)._

"Please," she gazes up into my eyes, two fingertips now glancing over my pulse point. 

She keeps staring and rubbing... _my brain can't keep up despite the simple request._

I take a deep breath.

"Fine," I exhale with a sigh. 

_She's won_ , even with ridiculous fern-ears.

A giddy, victorious little shriek escapes her that nearly pierces my eardrums through my audio.

"Maybe Force-persuasion works?" she quickly reaches to claim her prize.

"Wait, Hal'ika," I lift it away from her petite grasp and she gives a menacing glare. "Only after I carry it for an hour."

"Ok, maybe you _are_ immune to Force-suasion, but I'm not done haggling. I get the bag in a _half-hour_ _and_ you let me carry the Amban rifle starting _now_ ," she snags the leaves from her hair and slips on her lovely _buy'ce_. She then expectantly holds out her open hands.

"Fine," I begrudgingly agree, reaching to disengage the clasp and swing the weapon from over my shoulder. I set it gently into her palms.

_She's persistent._

A modulated, giddy giggle escapes her almond-eyed helmet, making my heart feel unsteady. She might as well have Force-persuasion powers because she can command from me nearly anything she desires. And the way she holds the weapon gives me ideas...

I turn to start walking, and the pod follows with our _ad'ika_.

"I'll have to teach you how to use it someday," I blurt, glancing over my shoulder to the weapon in her grasp, "if you'd like."

Her visor pops up to meet mine.

"I'd love that," she speaks, voice now distorted but not completely unrecognizable through her vocoder. 

I feel a slight blush creep onto my cheeks imagining training her on how to use the sight and load the cartridges... _well, I'll need to pick up pigmented practice rounds. I don't think she wants to disintegrate any innocent lifeforms - I don't want that either._

I scan the trail ahead for any unwanted visitors and it looks clear for as far as the HUD can detect. Glancing back, I see Kar is still contentedly playing with his toys, that silly medical tool Pershing gave him in his large ears. 

_I wonder if he'll take his mother's interest in medicine...it would likely be a safer path for him than swearing the Creed and becoming a warrior, and with his healing abilities it's only natural._

My _kar'ta_ cannot help but feel a twinge of conflict. In the end, it will be Kar's choice.

\------------------

We walk a ways without saying anything, our feet crunching on the disintegrating ancient stone path. The little womp rat finally falls asleep and we close him in the pram. Before I know it, we're nearing familiar craggy boulders, the area where I'd reminisced about my time in the Mandalorian Fighting Corps on our way out to find the monk. 

I suddenly feel the urge to talk. Something at the back of my mind pushes and the words find their way past my lips.

"Would you like to hear more about my time in the Mandalorian Fighting Corps?" I turn my head to glance at her, the delicate design of her armor glinting in the mid-afternoon forest light.

_I had told her only the impersonal basics before memories flooded and overwhelmed me from sharing more earlier. She deserves to know all of it - the good, the bad, and the horrific. She can handle it._

She nods, then reaches and removes her helmet, revealing eyes wide with care and comfort. Her gait slows slightly and I instinctively match.

"Din - only if you feel ready to talk about it. I know it's not easy," her healing hand rests upon my shoulder. I look down upon the kind touch that reaches past all my armor, down to my very kar'ta.

It's not easy, but I need to. _Mhi solus tome._ We are one.

_I shift my gaze to her sincere eyes and nod._

"I want you to know me. All of me," I say, almost reflexively.

I grab her hand in mine. 

"You are _ner riduur, darasuum_ ," my voice quivers slightly with unexpected emotion.

" _Darasuum_ ," she repeats.

I shift and continue walking with her hand in mine. 

I begin at the very start of my time with the _Mando'ade_ and work through the flashbacks I had endured just a few days prior. 

She's very attentive, brows furrowed at some of the more brutal parts.

The words just fall from me - each one that leaves my lips and hits her ears eases a small weight from my chest. Talking with her is just so easy and I nearly tell her my life's story. It fills up most of our travel time back to the ship. 

She's silent for a few minutes after I wrap up.

She stares straight ahead, holding tight onto the rifle stock as if trying to wrap her mind around the immense wealth of information. 

_Maybe I shouldn't have told her nearly everything..._

"Thank you," she turns and peers into my visor. "Thank you, Din," she then steps in front of me, making me stop.

Next she wraps her arms around me tightly, slipping underneath the cape.

"Careful with the rifle," I warn as the pronged muzzle grazes my backside, but her gesture sends a warmth into my chest and lifts a weight from my shoulders that I could never describe.

She chuckles, pulling back and putting on her helmet.

"Your sharing distracted me, but I haven't forgotten about carrying one of the bags," she reaches and firmly grasps the handle, giving it a tug. 

I don’t let her have it right away and stare at her, secretly enjoying the little grunting noises she makes trying to pry it from my grip. 

“Din, please? You said I could take it and it’s been at least tenfold the originally agreed upon half-hour,” she sounds a little irritated, even through the vocoder.

"Fine cyar’ika, but I get the rifle back," I retort. “It’s hands-free for me.” I pat my bandolier. 

Her visor tilts up to mine and she huffs. "Fine." 

_Is she annoyed?_

She offers the Amban and I reattach it.

She swings on the bag with a stifled groan.

“Heavy, isn’t it?” I smirk. 

Her _buy'ce_ indignantly cocks to the side.

“Just let me know if you grow tired. I don’t mind carrying it,” I offer. 

“I’ll be fine,” she stubbornly replies, picking up her pace to walk ahead of me.

“There’s that Dathomirian in you,” I joke. 

_She can be quite stubborn, one of the qualities I most admire about her._

We walk for another couple hours, the sun sinking back toward the Naboo horizon and shadows growing darker in the lush forest. As my _riduur_ shares some rather gory medical stories, I occasionally engage my HUD to ensure no one is following or awaiting us along the path.

After what feels like walking forever - I'm truly getting out of shape - the ship finally comes into view. I scan the perimeter and everything looks to be in order and clear.

I hit the ramp control on my vambrace and with a familiar hiss, the Crest welcomes us.

"Home sweet home," she says, stopping and watching the gangplank fully extend.

We take the last few steps up the ramp and we're officially back. As I reach for the ramp controls, I catch sight of the room in question from earlier today.

_Kriff, had I cleaned the 'fresher?_

The entrance hisses shut.

"You need to eat and drink," she says in her physician voice, still clear as day through her helm's vocoder. _I've learned to recognize her vocal nuances by now._

"I'll unpack - it's fine Hal'ika," I set my bag down as she also sets hers to the dusty cargo floor. 

_Wayii, I need to sweep._

"Your blood pressure's on the low side, heart rate and temperature are elevated, and your cardiac output is down by one- to two-percent. You're dehydrated," she stands with hands on her hips, looking extra authoritative.

_Yep, physician-mode activated._

"You're spying on me," I cock my head and stare at her, enjoying just a smidgen to give her a hard time.

"I'd like to think of it as monitoring your stubborn metal-ass," she reaches for a water bottle from her medic bag. "I should have _spied_ sooner."

I chuckle and give in to her well-meant intentions.

She turns, handing me a canteen. She then steps closer, on the tips of her toes, hands rising up to either side of my bucket.

Her almond-eyed visor peers into mine, as if asking for permission. I nod almost imperceptibly. She slowly lifts my helm, it hisses as it slides away and the cool air of the ship sweeps in to envelop my face, the sweat on my brow finally finding relief. I hear her shuffle to the bedroom and back, having stored away my _buy’ce_.

My eyes adjust to the brighter lighting and before I know it, she nabs the canteen and presses the brim to my lips.

"Drink please," she insists.

"Do you treat all of your patie-," I start with a smirk but am cut off by her tilting the water to flow into my mouth, causing me to nearly sputter. I raise my brows at her for nearly choking me.

_Oh but the water feels like paradise to my dry tongue._

"Drink," she repeats.

_I don't need to be told twice._

I take the canteen from her and eagerly empty a half-liter in one breath, my parched mouth and throat relishing in the hydration.

"Eat," she steps forward, jousting a chalky protein bar at my face, but I turn my chin up at the onslaught.

My stomach betrays me by growling.

She smiles that it agrees with her.

"You're lucky you're cu-," I begin as she sees her chance and takes advantage of the opening, shoving the bar past my lips.

"Ccyrrrkkkaahh," I protest through a muffled bite, grabbing the rest from her hand. 

_She's quite persistent._

Her visor just stares at me, ever-so-slightly panning up and down - _if I'm not mistaken, it appears as though she's studying me..._

"Cool," she croons.

"What's so interesting?" I take another bite of the chewy chalk brick, knowing she’s up to something.

"You," she says simply, almost as if distracted.

"Is that so?" I quirk a brow.

 _She_ is _up to something._

She huffs an amused laugh.

"Watching you masticate and also your esophageal peristalsis as it pushes the bolus toward your stomach." There’s a sound of awe in her voice that’s not completely filtered by the vocoder.

_Yep, she's playing with her new toy again...and using cryptic medical terms._

My heart involuntarily thumps knowing she can see. _I feel vulnerable...exposed...but not in a bad way. From day one, she’s literally seen the very center of me. She’s the only one I’d let do so._

"Oh yeah?" I finally manage.

"Sorry to intrude. This tech is just so neat...the Armorer is very talented," she compliments.

"You can tell her that yourself,” I look at her tinted almond-eyes.

"What do you mean? Are we...?" she asks, then slips off her helmet, face seemingly surprised.

"Yep. We're going to pay the nearby clan a visit," I nod, my veins singing with anticipation of the Darksaber's handoff. 

I'm nervous as to what my _alor_ will say, how _she_ might react. She'd know more about the symbolic weapon than anyone, being the keeper of the lore. 

I reach past Halarys to secure the Amban inside the gun locker.

“I get to meet your Mandalorian family _again_?” she steps close and runs her freehand along my ribs.

“Yes,” I exhale looking down upon her _racin_ features, “I suppose you will get to meet them again.” I take the rest of the bar in one bite.

“I look forward to it,” she sounds a bit too excited. "And please don't choke on that." She chuckles on account of my stuffed mouth.

I feel a little embarrassed at the thought of Halarys coming along...not because of her...perhaps because of Paz’s sometimes difficult demeanor? He could be a real _muun kovid_ . _He'll get it if he says anything negative about her...or if he gets too friendly._

"How about I continue unpacking, while you and the muddy green monster take a shower?" she motions to the still-closed pod and then goes to the bedroom to set her helm next to mine.

"Sure," I reply as she walks past and bends to one of the camping totes.

 _This is good, I'll be the first in the 'fresher to make sure no rotten, bloody surprises await._

"Need help?" she looks up from the bag, gathering the dirty rags from our endeavors.

"No, I got it," I quickly say. 

I work on removing my Beskar into a neat pile under the cot where Halarys had set both of our buckets, feeling the weight slowly lessen from my body. I'll complete the routine armor maintenance later. My shoulders are a bit sore from carrying the bags, but I’ll never admit it to Halarys. 

_Haar'chak, I'm going soft..._

"Where's my little womp rat?" I press the vambrace control before setting it to the collection and reveal the still sleepy dirt-monster. His pram needs a cleaning now too.

_I'm glad he's too tired to jump out - I don't need him dragging dirt around the ship, even though I still need to clean the cargo bay after all the debris from our recent guests._

"Boooeerr," he groggily gurgles and reaches up to my bare face with crud-filled claws. His eyes widen at the still-novel sight.

 _He's recognizing me with and without the helmet - that's good._ A large smile for all to see seizes my face.

"Su cuy'gar, Kar," I coo back at him, starting to remove his smock.

The kid giggles as I struggle. Halarys starts chuckling too.

"Are you sure you don't need help?" she asks, snickering.

_I'm sure she finds this amusing._

"Then your quality entertainment would end," I quip back, which earns a laugh. I finally work the robe over his great ears. "Success!" 

"Do you need me to help with _your_ clothes?" she quirks a brow, her aquamarine eyes almost hypnotic.

"How about you help with a _later_ part?" I smirk back.

The kid gives me an accusatory look.

“I think I can handle that,” she chuckles. 

I shuck off my flak vest, flight suit and boots, finally achieving a state of complete undress...and in a situation where two other pairs of eyes can plainly see. Being completely free of any armor and all other barriers in front of them feels less unusual than I'd expect...they're _ner aliit_. It’s strangely comfortable despite being a recent revelation. Not that it isn't a big deal - it’s a huge milestone for me to be without the helmet in front of both of them - it feels freeing, liberating. To see their faces unobscured in all the nuanced colors and details, to hear their voices and laughter unfiltered - nothing could compare. My _kar’ta_ is at peace. 

"Alright kid, let's get clean," I say as I pluck him from his sleeping pod. He reaches again to my face and I can't escape it. He wants to touch my beard and there's no stopping it.

As filthy claws scratch curiously at my facial hair, I walk over to the refresher room door. Halarys is watching intently.

"You guys are too cute," she smiles, a pink blush on her pale face. A blush of my own forms with her piercing eye contact.

"Give us a few minutes and we'll be even cuter," I wink.

She laughs deeply. 

_She liked that one,_ I mentally pat myself on the back.

"I'll be the judge of that," she says, returning to organizing. 

_We'll see how many things are not in their usual places, but at least it'll be put away._

“Krrrrrr,” Kar growls as he pokes my mustache.

I crack the 'fresher door, checking that Hal'ika can't see, and flip on the light.

 _Oh good, no nasty mess in sight...yet._ I feel a little relief.

I slip through the door, shutting it behind us. 

_Yep, just as small as I’d remembered (I can easily touch opposite walls at once with arms outstretched)._

I shift and look into the small shower stall, prepared for some bloody leftovers…

Only some scant rusty dried blood spatter spots had been missed. I’m fully relieved.

“You remember saving me in here?” I gaze down at the little one.

The kid had come looking for me and found me collapsed in the stall, losing blood. I’d failed miserably at cauterizing mostly due to the fact that I’d forgotten to replace the damaged one. He’d slept nearly an entire day after that, for which I’d felt extremely guilty he’d exerted himself. But he saved me.

“Bah,” his ears perk up and he holds out his dominant left hand to my face.

“Thanks kid,” I look into his dark, intelligent eyes. “Well, here’s to a less bloody shower this time around.”

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and immediately frown in disgust. 

_I look and smell like absolute hell. And need a shave._

“Somehow your mom can manage to love me despite my current state,” I shake my head.

“Bah,” he concurs.

“Alright, let’s do this,” I pivot and turn the water knob, adjusting it to the desired temperature. 

I’d descaled the hot water tank when Kuiil helped reconstruct the Crest following the damn Jawa incident. Prior, I’d gone months with limited hot water, but with even lesser a chance to use it. Right now, I’m especially grateful for the repair and I'm certain Kar and Halarys will be as well.

The water falls from the head and I test it with my hand. It’s a bit cool yet and I turn the temperature up slightly and test it again.

“That feels about right,” I look down at Kar and he looks a little concerned.

“We got this kid,” I take us under the inviting warm water and he chirps as the spray hits him. He soon starts purring. 

_Gods he’s cute._

“See, feels nice huh?” I reach and grab the all-in-one soap bar.

“Ok, let’s not get this in your eyes,” I gently scrub the bar atop his fuzzy head, careful to avoid his face. It works well enough to achieve a one-handed lather.

I set the bar down and redistribute the bubbles on his head to wash his mucky hands and feet, which harbor the worst of the gunk.

 _Your claws maybe need trimming_ , I note as I dig the stubborn dirt from underneath. He giggles and kicks as I try to clean his sharp toes. 

“If you kick me with those daggers, this might turn into a bloody shower after all,” I try to reason with the squeaky womp rat, but I can't help but laugh at his reaction.

 _Look at me cleaning this little green monster's feet...guess this is my life now._ _And I wouldn't trade it for anything._

“Knock-knock," her lilting voice announces.

I turn and Hal’ika peeks through the door. 

"I almost got this little beast clean," I proudly share.

"Beast?" she chuckles. "Not this precious angel," she watches me finish rinsing our _ad'ika_.

"His nails need trimming. He can nearly eviscerate me," I say, wincing as I shift him back to the crook of my shoulder and his toenails jab my lower ribs for purchase.

"You have clippers?" she asks.

"Second drawer below the sink," I point, nearly touching the intended drawer (it's a very small space). 

As Halarys rifles through the drawer, Kar shifts in my arms and clings to my other shoulder, digging his nails in like a loth cat. 

"Ow," I look at the little one.

"Gahhh gahhh," he babbles.

"I know, kid. You're ready to be done," I acknowledge him. "His nails do need trimming," I look back at her.

"Got it," she holds up the nail trimmers. "Is he all clean?"

"Yep," I reply as he continues digging into my shoulder. 

_Kriff_ , I look down at him and he coos lowly. I suppose I'm used to carrying him with the cowl's protection.

"I'll grab a towel." She leaves then returns with her arms draped and ready to take the little claw monster.

I transfer him into her arms and he fusses a bit, at the loss of warm water is my guess.

"Din," she looks at my shoulder. 

I look down and some indentations, not bleeding, are left from his grip.

"Let's clip those nasty nails," she pokes his nose eliciting a giggle and sets him in the sink padded by his towel. 

I watch her quickly get the job done, almost like she's done it before. I revel in the feeling of warm water rushing over my skin. Seeing as she has him under control, I selfishly close my eyes and lean back allowing the spray to envelop me. I blindly reach for the soap bar and begin washing my hair and face.

It feels great to wash away the sweat and oil. I lather and rinse, keeping my eyes closed and thoroughly enjoying the heavenly warmth.

"Mind if I join you?" her voice appears. I wipe the water from my eyes and find a very naked, hair-down Halarys before me.

My _kar'ta_ stutters.

"I was beginning to think you'd never ask," I feel my arousal reflexively kick in.

"Is there room for you and I?" she asks, giving a skeptical eye at the small dimensions.

"I can fit tight spaces, remember?" I reply with a smirk. 

"Maybe you can remind me?" She squeezes in to get to the water, and my length inadvertently brushes against her stomach (the stall is scarcely large enough for a single occupant). 

A warm blush flushes my cheeks, neck, and upper chest - I can feel it. 

_This woman._

"I think someone wants attention," she smirks, glancing down my gender. 

My mouth goes dry. My brain is liquified.

She turns and wets her white, silvery hair, darkening slightly with the addition of water. My vision floods with her pale, buttery skin and full breasts, nearly pressed up against me as warm water cascades between us…

"Din?" she asks, looking up into my eyes and bringing her hand to caress my cheek.

"Huh?" my blood is thumping in my ears and length growing painfully stiff.

"Do you think we can do it in here?" she mischievously smiles.

I sigh as I weigh the likelihood.

"I think it might actually be too small and I don't want to use up too much water," I reason. 

A primal part of my brain vehemently laments those words.

"Good point. We'll continue this in bed?" she seductively smirks.

"I'd very much like that, Hal'ika," I smile back, pulse jumping at the impending endeavors.

"Can you pass the soap?" she asks, changing the subject.

I hand her the bar and she washes herself methodically, rotating to lather the areas not hit by water and then rinsing. 

I enjoy watching her and as she rotates, she's rubbing against my ---.

"I don't suppose you have shampoo and conditioner?" she interrupts my thought.

"It's an all-in-one," I gesture to the soap in her hand.

She doesn't look entirely impressed...or impressed at all for that matter.

"I might need you to help brush out my hair," she taps a hand on my chest. "You can think of it as foreplay."

"Hal'ika, anything you want," I reply, a little more eager than intended.

She scrubs her hair and works the lather and hands the bar back to me. I watch her steal much of the water, but I don't mind. I run my hand through my dripping hair, which is getting rather long, nearly to my neck again.

She looks into my eyes, commanding all my attention and runs her hand down my abdomen and over my aching desire for her.

"H-hal'ika," I purr and bend to steal a kiss.

Her velvet, supple lips press against mine and I taste softness on my tongue. The hardness in her hand twitches and she gives it a languid tug that nearly makes my knees give out.

As soon as the kiss begins, it seems it's over and she slips out to grab one of the towels she'd placed on the small sink, giggling giddily and flashing her bright smile.

She might as well be a sorceress because I'm under that woman's spell completely (and willingly).

She wipes off the condensation from the mirror and dries her body, lifting her legs on the counter to get a better angle. 

I'm hypnotized - between her sexiness and the warm water...I have the brain capacity of a swamp gnat.

She finishes her lovely drying techniques and wraps the towel around her.

_Show's over._

_Kriff_ , I exhale and quickly rinse myself and shut off the water. I had such a one-track mind, I'd entirely forgotten about the kid.

"Is Kar already in bed?" I ask worriedly, ready to run out soaking wet.

"Yep, I put him in his pram with a fresh blanket. He's shut in for the night," she says as she hands me a fresh towel. "I also made a dirty laundry pile there," she points out the 'fresher door to the direction of the left corner of the rear ramp. 

She's so _mesh'la_.

"I'll get to that later. Right now, there are more pressing matters," I grin and quirk a brow, finishing drying myself.

"And what _matters_ might those be?" she plays ignorant and cute, turning around from the mirror, and letting her towel fall open.

My pulse doubles before the towel even hits the floor. 

_Yep, I'm kriffed. Well...about to be kriffed._

I smirk at my dumb thought and before my brain catches up, she's delicately grasping my wrist. She leads me out the cramped 'fresher to the bedroom door and I drunkenly follow, watching in captivation her bare, full backside sway. My throbbing, wanton desire juts at full rigor, desperately needing _her_.

She pivots, turning me around, and nudges me to fall back on the cot. I obey, positioning myself backward to lay fully recumbent.

 _This will be our first time in the Crest_ , I muse to myself.

She crawls over me, trailing kisses all the way upward from my thighs to my lips, sending my skin stepwise to gooseflesh. The feeling of her warm, sensual ministrations mixed with the feathery touch of her long, damp hair is intoxicating. She spreads her legs on either side of my waist, pressing her center flush against my stomach. I watch dazed as her full lips lower to mine, and she continues thoroughly kissing me into oblivion. I melt even further into the fabric of the cot. The hardened tips of her breast that graze my chest beg to be touched and make my desire burn with the intensity of the twin suns on Tatooine. 

Instinctively, I reach and palm the hard-peaked, brimming handful of soft divinity. She gasps.

"Are you ok?" I cease my touches and look her in the eyes. 

_Did I hurt her?_

"I'm more than good," she purrs centimeters above my face, her _meshurok_ eyes glowing, and then leans back in, nipping my lip.

 _Kriff_. I feel my heart skip and I swallow hard.

She kisses down my cheek toward my ear, then hovers, her heavy breath glancing over my ear.

"Please touch me. I enjoy it, Mr. Djarin," she whispers, then gently tugs my earlobe with her teeth.

My pulse shorts out for a moment and I'm panting deeply, absolutely, hopelessly drunken on her feminine scent, soft skin, sultry voice, and seductive sight - all of it and more. 

She kisses on my neck, pressing passionate kisses along my pulse point and again splaying her hot, wet center on my abdomen. 

I can't take it. The aching desire to have her has reached a breaking point.

"Hal'ika," I beg. "I _need_ to be inside you." My hips instinctively buck, but my sensitive, needy length finds no relief.

"And I need _you_ inside of _me_ ," she hushes into my neck before she steals a deep kiss from my dumbfounded lips.

She moves and positions over the physical proof of my passion for her. She lowers onto the sensitive tip, working to slowly adjust. Waves of intense pleasure resonate, tightening the coil in my lower abdomen. It takes all restraint I have and digging my heels into the cot to not start wildly thrusting into her sweet, warm tightness.

 _I don't want to hurt her._ I focus on my breathing and her _mesh'la_ face that smiles sweetly back at me.

After a few tries over the tip, she finally sinks over my full length and I revel in the silk warmth of her envelopment. She lifts and slowly undulates her hips. My eyes nearly cross from the intense pleasure of her gliding over me. I grasp her deliciously full hips and guide her up and down, each hip-to-hip contact building in rigor.

Soft mewls escape her pink, swollen lips.

"Din," she moans. She leans beside my cheek. "Harder," she demands, lips ghosting over my ear.

I'm so in the moment, her little plea is all I need to break free from my flimsy self-restraint.

She gazes into my eyes as we both pant. Her hands splay on my chest, and I know she must feel my rabid pulse, its frenzied state having everything to do with her.

"M-mesh'la," I stutter through a held breath as I chase the rapidly filling cup, pressure building to the point of no return. And after another couple unbridled thrusts, I find release, my seed spurting deep within her. I suddenly remember to breathe, chest heaving in ecstasy. 

As I catch my breath, she rides her own wave of pleasure, walls fluttering and releasing a gushing warmth that envelops me.

She collapses a top and her labored breaths puff against my sweat-sheened skin. I pull her flush against me.

"I love you," she whispers over my fully sated _kar'ta_.

" _Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum_ ," I hush into her still damp hair.

We lay in an embrace, the sound of our gradually steadying breaths filling the small room. She nuzzles into my chest and rests her ear over my heart as it thanks her endlessly for her presence.

"I should wash up before I make a mess," she confesses.

"A little late for that?" I reply, nodding down to her legs.

She glances down. Her thighs are a mess from me.

"It's ultimately your fault," she playfully pats my chest.

"Hey, you started it by being naked," I prod back.

"I could blame you for that," she scooches up and kisses me before shifting to leave.

 _She's not getting away_ that _easily._

I grab her wrist and tug her back into me. She squeaks and giggles as I position to cradle her in my arms and carry her back to the refresher.

She looks up at me. I smile, as she wraps her arms around my neck and she kisses my chest.

Once back in the shower, I shuffle to set her to her feet in the awkwardly small space and we rinse off.

After another _kar'ta_ -stealing kiss and drying off once more, I go to the mirror and prepare to shave and trim my hair.

 _Wayii, how did she make love while looking at this?_ I think to myself as I survey the patchy, grey-peppered beard and unkempt hair that looks bushy enough to be part of the kid's stuffed animal collection.

I notice Halarys in the 'fresher doorway, dressed in one of my spare shirts that grazes suggestively mid-thigh, watching me scrutinize my reflection. She brushes her hair with a special detangling brush gifted by Rallo's clan on our wedding night - we all know the matting that can occur with extended helmet use and Halarys was now part of the bucket culture. It was a practical gift.

I smile as I retrieve the durasteel razor and shaving cream from the drawer, knowing she's studying me. I hone the blade on its stone.

"Would you mind if I try?" she grins, stepping forward and placing her brush in the drawer along with a thoughtful hand on my shoulder. It sends a delightful, static chill across my skin.

I look at the sharpened straight razor as I polish it against the leather strop and then at her in the mirror.

"You really want to?" I raise my brows, studying the edge which I discern needs a few more strokes. 

I suddenly feel a little tug on my heart at the offer. _She'd really want to do such a thing for me?_

"I'd love to, but only if it's ok with you," she smiles, her bright eyes locking onto the reflection of mine. "But you might need to teach me." 

"Sure. As long as you're careful," I caution as I look back down at the blade's edge, satisfied at its sharpness, and then carefully hand it to her. 

"I have the hands of a surgeon, remember?" she smirks.

"Oh yes. The hands of a heart surgeon no less," I blush, "but no skin slicing involved with this." I quirk my brow, gulping at how she automatically holds it like a scalpel. 

"I've never used a straight razor before," she admits.

"I can guide you. First, I need to apply shaving cream, then we can get started," I smile at her, noticing her pinked cheeks.

 _She likes this_. 

I spray a large dollop in my hand and spread the shaving cream evenly, feeling the coolness and inhaling the familiar clean, castile scent - a scent that reminded me of my father. I rinse my hands of the excess and turn to face my eager _riduur_. 

"Alright, let me show you how to hold that razor first," I hold out my hand.

She nods and offers the blade back, smiling at the white bubble beard I currently possess. 

"Like this," I demonstrate with razor pointing downward and handle upward to form a V-shape, and hold the shank (just below the actual razor) between my two forefingers and thumb, my third finger on the other side of the handle on the tang, and my pinky resting below that. 

Her piercing eyes make quick work of studying the finger positioning.

"Got it," she nods and reaches back for it. I hand the blade back and she correctly grasps it on the first try.

"Jate," I praise, impressed. 

"I have a _jah-tay_ , handsome teacher," she grins, enunciating the Mando’a word.

"Now for the real fun,” I nervously swallow, looking back into the mirror. “You want to come at the skin with a 30 degree angle and pull the skin taut," I gesture at my cheek, mimicking the proper blade angle with one hand and pulling my skin tight with the other. I turn back around to face her.

“Got it, 30 degrees, skin taut, and no slicing,” she wickedly grins.

_What did I agree to?_

“Alright, be gentle. Let the blade do the work, no forcing it to cut,” I warn, my voice a little shakier than intended as I bend a little to reduce our height difference and make it easier for her to reach.

“I’m making you nervous,” she half-grins, tilting my head to the side, fingers grazing just below my jawline. 

“Maybe a little, _cyar’ika_ ,” I admit. Not that I can hide my quickened pulse from her gaze any longer. 

A portable chair would be a better idea if I had one - the lighting is best in here...what else could I use?

_Oh a crate!_

She comes at me with the razor.

“Wait, I’m going to grab a seat,” I move my head backward, standing fully upright. I slip out of the bathroom and grab a cargo crate from behind the mesh. It’s full of some extra weapons, some of which I’d trained Omera’s village with for the fight against the raiders. My mind automatically flashes back to her kindness, and the what-ifs. I’d thought about her quite often before finding Halarys. I quickly push that thought away, looking at my _cyar’ika_ who stands expectantly in the doorway.

_I’m beyond lucky for her - I’ve known she was The One, my riduur, from nearly day one - no doubt in my kar'ta._

“This will give you a better angle to work with, Hal’ika,” I walk back into the cramped ‘fresher, with the crate in hand. I set it down and then seat myself atop, facing her. 

“You all set now?” she gives a purse-lipped smile, accentuating her dimples.

“Yes, _cyar’ika_ ,” I look up into her blue eyes. I don’t think I’ve looked at her from this angle before. I marvel at the new perspective.

She gently tilts my head to the side and pulls the skin taut along my exposed right cheek. 

“You want to start on the top of the cheek and swipe downward _with_ the grain, _not_ against, along the skin. Remember, let the blade do the work, no pushing it to cut,” I add the crucial last detail and reminder.

“Yes sir,” she smiles, flashing her white teeth at me.

She adjusts my head again and carefully angles the razor at the top of the cheekbone and starts scraping downward in disciplined precision. 

_Ok, she has a surgeon’s hands, I’ll admit._

The blade slides over with almost no resistance, proving I’d sharpened it well enough. No razor burn yet either.

_She’s doing great._

I don’t talk for fear of jostling the blade, but watch her face, furrowed in concentration and eyes calculating and surveying her progress. I swallow hard the lump in my throat - partially nerves from the sharp blade and partially that she’s so damn _mesh’la_.

“You doing ok?” she glances at my eyes, pausing her strokes for a moment.

“Uh huh,” I reply, trying my best not to move. My eyes drop as she angles my head to get the chin area. She reaches past to wipe the cream-trapped trimmings on the towel draped on the counter.

"That shirt looks better on you," I comment, sneaking a peek at her curves as she leans extra close. _I can feel the warmth radiating from her_.

"I could say the same to you, but I prefer the shirtless state by far," she chuckles, shifting back into place and tilting my head to the other side.

“Are you going to get the upper lip?” I ask before the blade comes down and slides over my left cheek.

“I thought I’d leave it,” she glances at my eyes, pausing the razor so I can respond.

“Sure, I just might trim it up a little,” I didn’t mind it so long as it didn’t drape into my mouth. It was nearing that length currently.

“I’ll admit, I like your facial hair,” she smiles working along the other side of the chin and then leaning again to wipe the buildup from the blade.

“When it gets too long, it can make the helmet warmer,” I reason for shorter facial hair. 

“That makes sense. I’m also curious to see a mostly clean-shaven Din,” she grins widely, finishing my chin. “Ok now for the neck. Is there a special trick to that?”

“Just swipe downward _with_ the grain, starting where you left off along the chin,” I tilt my head backward, feeling especially vulnerable as she gently nudges my chin back a little more for extra tension. She leans in close to my face for a better view and angles the blade and sweeps it down my neck - I close my eyes. I can hear the scruff scratching predictably as the sharpness catches it. I can feel her breath on my neck. I start to feel more relaxed. 

Suddenly, I feel her lips press against the freshly shaved area of my neck and my eyes flick open. I quickly melt at the sensation.

“I think I might need you to shave me from now on,” I smile, looking in her glowing eyes. 

She giggles, reaching past to wipe the gunk off.

“So I take it you’re doing ok?” she quirks her brows.

“Yes, and you’re doing great. Just be extra careful around Adam's apple,” I suggest. 

_I’ve nicked myself there more than a few times._

“Noted,” she shifts back and positions the blade dead center below my chin. She swipes with ease around the contour. “There, got it,” she looks into my eyes.

“Wow, you are definitely hired as my personal groomer,” I chuckle.

She finishes the last area of my neck, kissing that area as well for good measure - the best aftershave I’ve ever had applied to my skin.

“Take a look,” she gestures at the mirror. 

I stand from the crate and turn, leaning into the mirror to inspect. 

“ _Jate, cyar’ika_. I’m impressed,” I look at her from the mirror.

“Thanks,” she smiles, setting the razor on the towel.

“I’m going to trim my hair and do laundry. Then I’ll be ready for bed,” I relay to her my plans, and then lean to rinse the excess cream from my skin and remaining mustache. 

“You cut your own hair?” she asks, turning a little red. “Dumb question, of course you would need to,” she reasons.

“I cut it just to keep it from my neck and eyes - no one really sees the end result anyway,” I chuckle, wiping the water from my face.

“Well, I think you do a pretty good job. But I can manage cutting hair. Mind if I give you a trim as well?” she offers.

“No, that’d be nice,” I smile at her reflection as I grab the razor and work on trimming the edges of the mustache.

“I like the mustache. It fits you,” she smiles widely from behind. 

“It’s not bad,” I agree, studying its evenness and snagging a few stray whiskers on one side. I’ve never much worried about my appearance for obvious reasons, but she seems to appreciate the effort. 

I wrap a fresh towel around my shoulders in preparation for the haircut and grab the shears and a comb from the drawer.

“Alright, do your magic,” I smile up at her from the crate, offering her the tools.

“Mohawk, got it,” she giggles, grasping the scissors and comb from my hand.

“Sure, you’re the one who gets to look at it,” I tease back.

“You could pull it off, but I think I’ll stick to a standard haircut,” she chortles and starts combing through my hair which feels heavenly. 

I can’t help but lean into the divine touch and close my eyes. My scalp goes into a state of bliss each time she touches it. She pulls sections taut and trimming a good inch or more from the ends. 

I think I could fall asleep.

“Hey, stay still,” she chuckles. “Or you’re going to a _really_ edgy haircut.” 

“Sorry _cyar’ika_ , I’m falling asleep,” I keep my head still and shift my eyes to look at her. 

“Almost done,” she smiles and continues combing and clipping. 

I close my eyes again as hair falls over my face. I blow some stray tickling pieces from my nose.

“Done,” she announces, scuffling the shorter hair to free lingering cut strands. “What do you think?” she asks, nodding at the mirror.

I turn slightly and look at my reflection, removing the hair-coated towel from my shoulders, setting it on the counter.

“Wow, _ner kar’ta._ Best haircut I never gave myself,” I chortle. It looks much more even and the bangs dust right above my eyebrows. I run my hand through to swipe it away from my forehead.

“Glad you approve. I wonder what Kar will think,” she chuckles. 

“I don’t think he’ll recognize me,” I reply honestly. _As long as he doesn’t force-choke me._

“You do look like a new man,” she leans in and wraps her arms around my shoulders and kisses my cheek. "A very handsome one."

I blush, feeling my heart falter.

“Oh yeah?” I turn and stand up to full height from the crate and look down at her adorable smiling face. I pull her close.

“Hey you’re getting hair all over me,” she pats my chest in playful retaliation.

“But it’s my shirt,” I tease.

“Fair point,” she snickers, studying my eyes. It’s turning my desire hot again. But I need to get some chores done.

“Alright, I’m going to clean this mess up and start laundry,” I regretfully share.

“I can clean up the hair mess if you do laundry,” she offers.

I know by now she hates laundry.

“Sounds like a fair proposition,” I smile down at her and kiss her forehead.

I grab a broom and dustpan for her. After she’s swept the mess and also cleaned up the razor and stored away supplies back in the drawers, I get to work on washing the laundry in the sink. The Crest doesn’t have a laundry machine, but I might need to invest in one now that there’s two more full time crew members aboard. 

I run a rope from one side to the other of the cargo bay near the ceiling and hang our cleaned flight suits, the kid’s smock and pram-lining, and towels to dry.

Halarys watches me from the edge of the cot in the bedroom. She’s back to being without any clothing - my eyes are grateful for that choice. 

I hurry up my task, shut off the lights, and turn to join her for the night. Tomorrow we leave early morning before dawn to visit the Armorer and the Naboo Mandalorian clan.

“Goodnight, _ner kar’ta_ ,” I whisper in her soft hair, holding her close as she falls asleep on my chest.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Mando'a Translations**

****_Alor_**** \- leader (in reference to the Armorer)

 _ **Ad'ika** \- _Son (or daughter)

 ** _Beskar'gam_** \- Mandalorian armor ****

 **_Booooeeerrr_ ** \- Kar's enunciation of "buir", the word for "father" (can mean mother too, but Kar associates it with Din only at this time) ****

**_Buy’ce_** \- Helmet ****

 ** _Cyar’ika_** \- Sweetheart

 _ **Haal** _\- Breath ****

 **_Haalur. Partayl haalur._ ** _-_ Breathe. Remember to breathe.

 ** _Haar'chak_ **\- Damn it!

 ** _Jate_** \- Good

 ** _Kar'ta_** \- Heart (or soul), figuratively or literally

 _ **Mando'ade** _\- Mandalorians (ie, the sons and daughters of Mandalore)

 **_Mhi solus tome_ ** \- We are one (from the Mandalorian marriage vows)

 _**Muun kovid** \- _Hard head (i.e., dense)

 _ **Mesh'la** _\- Beautiful

 _ **Meshurok** _\- Gemstone

 _ **Ner riduur, darasuum**_ \- my wife, for eternity 

**_Ner riddur, ner ad'ika. Ner aliit._ ** _-_ My wife, my child. My family.

 **_Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum_ ** \- I love you

 **_Racin_ ** \- Pale

 **_Shereshoy_ ** \- lust for life and much more - uniquely Mandalorian word, meaning the enjoyment of each day and the determination to seek and grab every possible experience, as well as surviving to see the next day - hanging onto life and relishing it. 

**_Su cuy'gar, Kar_ ** \- Hello, Kar

 ** _Wayii!_** \- Good grief (exclamation of surprise)

**\-- >Side note:** Yes, the "decrepit Duros bounty hunter in a ridiculous hat" was intended to refer to none other than Cad Bane (TCW villain). I headcanon that chain-smoking blue scoundrel is still alive and kickin' and huntin' in Din's time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing an entire chapter in first-person Din. I hope I did his wonderful character some justice. I'm thinking the chapters moving forward might contain mostly if not all of his perspective over Halarys' (it's time to switch it up, right???). I'd love to know what you think (:
> 
> As always, thank you for reading the adventures of Din, Halarys, and Kar <3 It makes me smile that others find it worth reading.


	35. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Episode XXXV: Mhi Solus Tome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din, Halarys, and Kar travel to the Mandalorian Clan on Naboo to pass along an incredible honor to The Armorer. It turns into much more.

I wake gradually, soaking in her intoxicatingly warm weight as she rests snugly within my protective embrace. And I can feel her head cresting above the edge of the blanket layers, pillowed safely against my chest. 

_We fit together so well - we_ _couldn't be any closer if we tried_. The line of thought tugs a small smile from my lips and implores me to hug her a little tighter just for good measure.

She remains asleep, soft snores escaping her and satin hair trailing over my bare arm and shoulder. Judging by the sensation of moisture near her cheek, she's drooling too - she and the kid are the only beings in existence I'd gladly allow to do so.

_Hal'ika, ner mesh'la riduur_.

_She’s so silky and cozy_ , I think as I run my hand underneath the warm sheets and over her smooth arm and shoulder.

My _kar’ta_ and veins brim with a pleasant euphoria. Hells, she reaches every fiber of my being, making me thrum like the ship's powercore.

I tilt my head downward to better see her, but only a dull outline is visible in the dimmed yellow cargo bay guide-lights from outside the cracked bedroom door. The red display of the vambrace catches my eye.

_Kriff, what time is it?_

I carefully bend upright to better see its readings at the bottom edge of the cot, trying my best not to disturb her peaceful slumber. 

I can _almost_ make out the red display as it cycles through weapon status, armor power readings, and the local time…

_04:38_

_Haar'chak_ , it’s nearing sunrise in less than an hour. 

I glance downward at the faintly illuminated stack of uncleaned armor.

Double _haar'chak,_ and I still need to maintenance my _beskar'gam._

"Hmmmmm?" she groggily mumbles as she nearly shifts off my chest, but I more tightly brace her in my arms to keep her from going too far.

"Cyar'ika, sorry to wake you. Just checking the time," I say softly.

"Time for sleep," she hushes, voice husky with grogginess as she wraps her leg around the lower part of my abdomen and runs her hand over my chest, coaxing my torso back down flush against the cot. Her touches stir a deep, fluttering need beneath the surface. My face and chest flushes with what I’m certain is a deep shade of red, concealed by the dim lighting. 

_Kriff, my desire for her soft skin is making me...react._

She shifts and brushes her thigh over _it_.

My brain isn’t working again, overridden by the unrelenting plea that demands ‘ _Halarys now_ ’.

It doesn't help that we both slept without a stitch of fabric on.

“Someone’s getting excited,” she chuckles, warm breath glancing over my burning chest, causing my heart to leap wantonly in her hand.

A conflicted grunt escapes me - I need to get us in the air before sunrise to reduce our visibility en route to the Mandalorian clan...but I _really_ want her. No... _need_ her.

No...I really _need_ to stay on task.

“Hal’ika, how about later tonight?” I make a counter offer as I twitch in retaliation at my own words.

She lifts upward and starts kissing my lips. Like _really_ kissing... 

Her tongue then flits over my bottom lip.

Kriff, I cannot resist her. 

_*Kissing*_

It's no use. 

_*Deeper kissing*_

Absolutely futile. 

I melt even further into the cot as her hungry lips passionately claim mine as theirs - I can barely keep up, and the throbbing below grows feverish.

Her lips break from mine with a loud _smooch_ noise.

“A quick one to tide us both over then,” she seductively hushes, the very tips of our noses barely-touching.

My chest is heaving to catch up with the kiss-induced oxygen deprivation. And my lips feel pleasantly swollen from her vigorous ministruations.

“Ok,” I blurt, the primal part of my brain winning this time. “But it has to be quick, less than five minutes,” the lucid part of my brain retaliates.

“Is that a challenge?” she laughs and rolls atop me.

I quirk a brow at her hovering silhouette and a stunted laugh escapes me at her interpretation. 

My senses are soon brought back and drowning in her physicality. Her warm weight is _everything - nothing else in the galaxy exists_. The dark-lit room only heightens the sensation and the sounds of our labored breaths. 

She shifts again, sitting nearly upright and then her velvet center slowly envelops me. I involuntarily twitch and she giggles.

“You just sit back and let me take care of you,” she insists. 

I watch her backlit form with bated breath - I reach to touch her soft, long hair, glowing on its edges. She’s angelic. 

She rolls her hips - a winded groan in my throat escapes.

_Yes, I’m in the manda, the heavens._

Her face isn’t visible, but I can picture it. A _mesh’la_ face I could never forget. I reach to caress her cheek as she nimbly and relentlessly undulates her hips, my tip hitting that spot inside her that makes her mewl like a Loth cat in heat.

It's indecent, but Maker does it not drive me rabid, wanting nothing more than to make her cry out in pleasure.

She picks up the pace and I can’t help but meet each thrust halfway, hands instinctively grasping the soft muscled curves of her hips as the tightening in my lower core grows impossibly tight and edges to the snapping point.

“Come, Din,” she needily commands, nails digging lightly into my chest.

She falls down against my chest, soft lips and delicate tongue teasing my neck and collarbone. The new angle and her kissing sends me careening to the edge and my thrusts grow choppy and deep.

Kriff, with one more impassioned impact of our hips, my passion for her is released, deep within her. 

I come down from my high, aimlessly running my fingertips over the small, square contraceptive implant on her outer thigh - I first felt it on our wedding night and quickly figured out what it was. Women of the Tribe would go to Tulata, our medic, to have them placed in order to skip their lunar cycles. I recall purchasing some every few years on Coruscant per her instruction. But I'd never asked Halarys if hers was still active. I'd assumed given her profession that she'd be on top of that. But maybe I should ask? _Did she want kids?_

“I think that was under three minutes,” she chuckles, pulling me from my thoughts as she collapses against my pounding chest. I'm still snug inside her.

“You didn’t...join me,” I notice with panting breath, trying to look down at her, but her face is tucked into the crook of my neck. 

She presses a soft kiss there before lifting her head, and holding it up, thinking for a beat. I cannot make out her features in the dark room.

“I’m saving up for later, Mr. Djarin,” she pecks my cheek, then lifts up, causing me to slip out. 

My pulse falters at the promise of _more_.

She shimmies off the cot and the door opens fully, gently illuminating her entire figure.

“We need to be on our way as you said,” she reminds, holding her hand between her legs to stop the mess from getting everywhere.

I huff a laugh at the scene, my brain still attempting to process the early-morning love-making.

“Are we off to see the Armorer?” she asks from the ‘fresher as I hear the shower turn on.

I lift up from the bed, feeling a lingering tingling in my skin that permeates from my blood and bones. 

“Yes,” I reply, holding myself to prevent a mess as I flip on the overhead lights and walk over to join her for a quick rinse.

Her hair's tied up in a mass on her crown, out of the stream, and she's already lathering up. I watch her hands glide the soap bar over her silken, bone-white skin and the fullness of her plump _sheb'ika_. 

_What I wouldn't give to be that bar of soap…_

I can feel my desire already building back up and I force myself to turn.

"You gonna join me?" she brightly asks, an edge of humor to her voice.

I chuckle a laugh and glance over my shoulder. 

"If I did, it might turn into us both needing yet another shower, cyar'ika," I reply, stepping out to relieve myself in the vacc-tube.

I hear the water shut off, and once my business is done, I go to wash up. 

Stretched on her toes, she gives me a kiss on the cheek as she strolls past in just a towel. My face flushes vibrantly at how… _cute_...she can be.

After a quick rinse, I promptly throw on my _kute_ and complete an abbreviated maintenance routine on my _beskar'gam_. Halarys does the same with hers, mimicking my polishing motions and listening intently to my explanation of the importance of armor care, which makes my chest swell with pride. Her interest in my culture only makes me fall deeper in-love with her, if that was even possible.

After I attach all my armor but before I slip on my _buy'ce_ , she steals a quick, yet gentle kiss, which still manages to steal my _haal_. I force myself to start up the ladder to the cockpit, thoughts weighted in her seductive charm. 

The cockpit windows display a still-dark-enough charcoal grey sky as I seat myself in the pilot chair. It will provide enough cover to avoid drawing any unnecessary attention to their encampment. Their secrecy is their safety. And even though some members joined the wedding reception in Deeja Peak, their _yaim_ was to be respected and protected.

"Off to see the family?" her voice sounds behind me. I pivot the chair slightly, catching a glimpse of the bright reflection of the control panel lights off her newly polished armor.

"Something like that," I nod as I quickly flip the power sequence switches and the Crest hums to life. "Have a seat, Hal'ika," I motion her to sit in the seat at my right flank and she obliges. 

Next, I disengage the safety, activate the engine engagement, and then press both ignition switch buttons overhead. The engines whir to standby. I quickly glimpse fuel level, engine temperature, powercore outflow, and periphery sensor data. I maintain minimal cockpit and external lighting to keep onlooker visibility of the ship to the minimum.

We're clear for take off.

"You're going to have to teach me one day," her bright voice lilts.

I turn to catch a glimpse of her in my periphery and nod. 

_I'd love to teach her...even if it was just an excuse to have her sit in my lap…_

My mind is wandering to unproductive places again and I shake the sultry daydream from my head.

I reach and engage the throttle. The round metal ball beneath my gloves briefly makes me think of Kar, _ner ad'ika_ , instead. It always would.

_He has better toys now_ , I smile to myself as the ship gradually ascends and I next retract the landing gear. 

"It should only be around a five minute flight," I announce, double-checking our course and accelerating us forward, and she responds with a cheerful 'ok'. 

I follow the previous flight record to extrapolate where the village is and the best, nearest landing area. My HUD takes over the function of the ship's external lighting by enhancing the surroundings so no surprise peaks or extra tall trees cut our travels short.

The longer I sit, the more I notice just how actually sore my legs are from yesterday's hike. 

_Getting soft,_ I chuckle lamentingly to myself. 

"Are we meeting them in Deeja Peak?" she asks.

I suppose I hadn't shared specifics.

"No, Hal'ika. We're going to their base," I explain, turning my head slightly to catch her out of the corner of my eye.

"Base? Like a military base?" she asks.

"No, their home, or clan village," I reply. Although, I suppose with all the weapons around, it'd be easy to mistake as one.

I spot a good landing location a couple hundred meters ahead with help of my HUD enhancements.

I decelerate and hover over the clearing in the trees, activating the landing gear, and then transition the stabilizers as we descend to the forest floor. Muted silhouettes of large trees grow taller until we connect with the mossy terra.

I switch my HUD back to standard vision.

"It shouldn't be more than a fifteen minute walk to them from here," I judge, taking one last look at the navigation screen before powering down the cabin.

"Anything less than what we did yesterday is an improvement," she chuckles. "I still might make you carry me."

" _Cyar'ika_ ," I pivot in the seat, and stand, an accidental grunt escaping me as I straighten stiffly. "Only if you wanted."

_It was probably too much to hope she hadn't noticed my pathetic transition to standing upright._

"Maybe I need to carry _you_ ," she chuckles in her seat.

_Yep, she noticed._

"Don't tempt me," I huff a laugh back, playing along, and then head past her through the cockpit door and down the ladder. The line earns a flurry of laughter.

She shortly follows down to the hold. We then retrieve Kar from his pram and eat breakfast together, killing some time so as not to walk into their village too early. But my mind is preoccupied, running over and over the potential events later today and how _it_ will be received.

After cleaning dishes, I beeline to the weapon locker control panel and press the button - metallic doors faithfully glide open, revealing warm light within. 

There _it_ is.

I stare at the Darksaber and it stares back. The symbol of the _Mand'alor_.

A gentle hand rests upon my shoulder, bringing me back to the physical present, and I turn to take in her caring features.

"I know I'm not a Mandalorian other than by marriage, but I think this is the right choice," she says with an empathetic brow and glimmer in her eyes, holding our _ad'ika_ close.

I nod, acknowledging her words which only reinforce my sentiments. I still feel like a complete _di'kut_ for not seeing sooner that we'd truly possessed the real Darksaber. It just hadn't seemed possible.

It doesn't seem possible.

Yet here _it_ is.

I reach into the armory and grasp its blade, leather pawing against the hilt.

It's certainly real.

My breath catches, mind reeling and wandering to all the battles it must have witnessed in its ancient age.

And now it's time for another chapter to begin.

A loud banging on the ramp resounds throughout the cargo bay, my body instantly tensing.

"Take this," I hand her a spare blaster from the locker and slip the saber's hilt under my belt at the small of my back. "You and Kar, stay in the cockpit," I strictly order, my chest surging with adrenaline, mind racing at who it might be.

I set my HUD to infrared and grab my Amban, making sure it's loaded...I wasn't going to take ANY chances with them aboard.

"Din-," she looks at me concerned, but then realizes my seriousness and turns and scales up the rungs with the little one.

Three more loud bangs sound on the hull. I think I might know who's causing the raucous based on the size of the heat signature...

I tap the vambrace control and the ramp slowly lowers, new pastel sunlight creeping in as I take aim from my vantage point, ready for friend or foe.

"Hey beroya, it's me," the familiar booming voice, soon paired with unmistakable grey-blue armor the size of a blurrg yearling (and with similar manners), clunks up the steps.

"Su cuy'gar, Paz," I reply dryly, lowering my weapon.

"The Elex Clan's scouts spotted your ship and I offered to see if you needed assistance," his helm scans scrutinizingly around the hold.

" _Vor'e_ , you didn't need to," I cock my head. He always knew how to raise my hackles.

"Where's your _auretii riduur_ and _ad'ika_?" he responds.

Was he trying to start a fight? Already?

"She might not be a _true_ Mandalorian in your eyes, but she spoke with me the marriage vows in _our_ tongue, and she's risked her life for me and our ad'ika. She's _kotep_ _bal_ _kotyc_ , more than most. Regardless, she's worthy of _your_ respect," I say, pulse surging hot and ready to defend her honor at the drop of another wrong syllabol from his bucket. 

Paz could always get underneath my _beskar'gam_ . He just had a way about him, and I didn't have the patience for his disrespectful words regarding _ner aliit._

"Thought you'd be less stressed now that you're getting some, _beroya_ \- or is she not giving you any since that _buy'ce_ came off?" he cocks his head, chortling lowly.

My fists clench, leather creaking around the forestock of the Amban that remains in my grip. I don't care that he was insulting me, but insinuating anything negative regarding Halarys made my blood boil over from my veins.

"You know I can hear both of you metalheads, right?" 

Her voice draws both our attention as she steps down from the rungs, her hair swishing as she balances the kid on the way down.

Paz stands statue-still and is rendered quiet. 

_For once._

She turns to face us, Beskar shining in the sheer dawn light that casts inward from the opened ramp. I feel my blood pressure tick upward yet as Paz watches her.

"Nice to see you again, Paz," she uses his name, gleaned during our wedding celebration. 

He curtly nods.

She looks at me, sparing a comforting glance, which sets me slightly toward ease, then peers back at the heavy infantry, who remains still and tense.

"It's ok - I know I was raised differently, and haven't sworn the Creed," she speaks, Kar nuzzling into her neck. "But I will do my best to honor Din and the armor I don. Please understand this."

His shoulders soften.

Her piercing eyes can melt anyone. _Or perhaps she'd Force-persuaded him?_ He can be simple-minded...

"I apologize," Paz mutters, tilting his head down in reverence to her.

_Yep, must have Force-persuaded him._

"I don't think it's me you need to apologize to," she nods her head in my direction. "And Din's face is _very_ handsome, might I add."

Paz's visor pans over to where I stand and he huffs.

"She's a feisty one," he rumbles, stepping forward, and then lands a behemoth hand on my pauldron, nearly making me lose my footing.

"Don't play too rough, I don't feel like playing medic this early," she chortles, walking past to fetch her helm from the bedroom.

Paz just puffs a laugh. He seems more tolerant. _Perhaps his time with the less-strict clan has done him some good, even if his lewdness hasn't improved._

My mind quickly circles back to my task, our reason for visiting.

"I have something for our Alor," I cut to the point, grabbing his attention.

"And _what_ might that be?" he tilts his helm, rather impatiently.

I attach the Amban to my bandolier, slinging it over my shoulder, then reach to the small of my back to grasp _its_ handle. I pull _it_ free, holding _it_ parallel to Paz.

" _Me'ven_? A broken vibroblade for her to mend?" his gravelled voice mocks.

I activate _it_ \- low humming and a bluish-white glow fill the air between us.

" _M-me'ven_?!" his vocoder croaks in disbelief. "Din, this is...where did you get this?" he stammers.

"The Darksaber?" I ask rhetorically, briefly glancing as Halarys sits on the cot with our son, now with her helmet on, visor watching intently in our direction. 

Paz tenses. " _Vod_ , _how_ did you get this?" he asks more sternly.

"Moff Gideon was in possession of it. Halarys took it from him in battle after she'd saved my life," I explain, leaving out the details on how the Imp had bested me in my rescue attempt. I didn't need to add to Paz's taunting-material.

He grumbles, fists clenching and shoulders tensing, surely fuming from the thought of an Imp having claimed, let alone having touched the blade. I know I get livid thinking about it, but that's in the past. Now it's back with _us_ , where it belongs.

I elaborate, "She hadn't known what it was, nor was I completely certain until recent information came available."

His mallet-like fists gradually unclench.

I continue, "But now I know this _is_ the symbol of the _Mand'alor_ . And our _Alor_ should be in possession of the important _besbe'trayc_."

Paz huffs a humourless laugh, visor staring at and glimmering from the eerie blade for a few tense moments before his helm shifts up to meet mine.

"Our Alor is _much_ more worthy than you, _beroya_ ," he can't help but get a jab in - it was in his nature. I'm just glad he didn't try to claim it from me with a fight. Paz could be radical in his views, and I for one know I'm not worthy to lay claim to the Darksaber, or fulfill the great responsibility it carries.

"Shall we get going?" Halarys chimes in from the bedroom, holding Kar to her breastplate as he watches the blade, which reflects in his curious eyes. She stands up with purpose.

The heavy infantry curtly nods, "The village is awaiting _my_ return." His head smugly swivels back to me.

"You sure they're not _relieved_ you're gone?" I cock my head, disengaging the Darksaber's blade and hooking it under my belt. _He set himself up for that one. I couldn't resist._ But I quickly regret it.

Paz chortles loudly and punches my shoulder rather hard, half-knocking the wind from me and earning a muffled grunt from my throat. 

"Hey, easy Paz!" Halarys scolds, sliding in to intervene. I move to keep myself between my _aliit_ and the sometimes rash, hulking brute. The shove will definitely leave a bruise, but I reflexively act as though it wasn't more than a nudge, standing my ground and tilting my head incredulously as my fingers automatically twitch near my blaster.

Paz huffs a laugh.

"You really think I'd harm your _aliit_?" he asks, sounding almost hurt.

_Can never be too careful_ , is what pops into my head, but the thought dies before it can materialize on my tongue. I don't need to instigate, and of course he wouldn't dare harm them. My trigger finger relaxes.

"Before we go, is there anything the clan needs, like supplies?" I ask to change the subject. Halarys gently rests her hand on my shoulder.

Paz's helmet tilts and thinks a moment.

"Uh, you're a healer, right?" he sheepishly addresses Halarys.

I feel a strange burning pressure in my chest as he looks at her. I didn't like it. _What is he up to?_

"Yes - why are you injured?" she steps from behind me, her almond-eyed visor scanning him up and down. 

I feel a little unsettled and cautious about her giving him _any_ kind of attention.

"No, well not me. Fallen rock from the mountain a couple nights ago destroyed the medic hut along with most of our medical supplies and damaged the shuttle. Some were injured. Nothing serious according to their medic. But without the shuttle, I've no way to obtain supplies," he elaborates.

"Why didn't you say so sooner? I'll gather extra medical supplies," she nods and turns to the storage chest near the vacc-tube.

"Do you need spare parts to repair the shuttle?" I jump in.

"Does this hunk of junk have anything it _can_ spare?" he can't help but prod at the sore subject.

I huff and shake my head. "Guess that's a no," I stiffly walk past him and down the ramp, into the goldening hues of a maturing dawn.

"The Crest always was a touchy subject for you," he chuckles, smacking the side of the doorway with a metallic shudder as he clunks down the ramp.

Halarys, with an excessively large tote around one shoulder and Kar in the other, follows lightly down.

"Hal'ika, did you spare any for us?" I ask in semi-seriousness, grabbing the hefty bag from her shoulder, which she reluctantly relinquishes. She has her hands full enough with our ad'ika.

"Yes, but we may need to stop in Theed before leaving Naboo so I can restock," a sheepish smile sounds in her modulated voice as she watches me sling the overloaded tote around my shoulder. I close the ramp with the touch of my vambrace and chuckle.

"Sure," I nod, turning to start through the brush and into the forest, leading the way.

I can hear Paz's trudging steps trailing me.

"Din'ika," he says in a mocking tone and claps me roughly on the back, chortling. "She's got you good." 

My cheeks and neck flush hotly.

"Damn right I do," Halarys adds in from a decent distance behind, letting him know she can hear everything. "And he has me just as good!"

Paz tenses and clams up, soldiering onward through the branches. 

I laugh lightly, seeing she's figuring out the directional sound amplification in her new helmet. I can't help but feel a deep satisfaction at her dismissing him...but I'd never admit it.

She soon catches up to me after fussing with one of her boots, hooking her arm in mine and Kar watching the forest pass by within the embrace of her other. We follow the path Paz's brawny figure clears, and before I know it, we're approaching the edge of the encampment. Stepping into the clearing, evidence of the fallen boulders shows on the edge nearest the cliff face as the new morning light shines on the very edges of the great plateau above.

"I'll go get _her,"_ Paz says over his shoulder, then saunters heavily through the tree-lined village.

"Su cuy'gar _again_ , stranger," a familiar deep feminine voice sounds from behind.

I turn, automatically putting myself between my _aliit_ and the voice.

"Rallo," I nod to the Mandalorian who'd graciously reconnected me with my Alor and helped us locate the monk. 

"Welcome back to Clan Elex," she nods before lifting her deep blue helmet, revealing her dark caf skin, short dark hair, and a sharp white smile.

I still couldn't wrap my mind around the unorthodox, less-strict ways of this clan. Their interpretation of the _Resol'nare_ was different and obviously their Creed as well - at least when it came to the tenet of armor. But who was I to say it wasn't valid? Of course their interpretation was. The Armorer accepted them and they've accepted us. In a sense, it was incredibly freeing to see this other _Way_ , but also a little unnerving to think the beliefs we follow are not the _only_ _Way_. 

How life might have been different, even within the Mandalorian culture, runs rampant in my mind.

"This must be your _riduur_ and _ad'ika_ ," she purrs, breaking me from the thought, reaching with outstretched hand to Halarys who appears beside me.

"Nice to meet you...Rallo?" Halarys grabs her hand, shaking it cordially. 

"Congratulations on your _riduurok_ ," Rallo nods in recognition, earning a polite 'thank you' from Halarys - I'm not sure if she knows what the word means, but I think she managed the gist given she definitely knows what _'riduur'_ is.

Rallos eyes glow in awe at Kar who watches her curiously, ears moving at the pleasured laugh that escapes the new face.

"Where are my manners?" Halarys chuckles, "My name is Halarys and this is -," her almond-visor shifts to me for approval and I nod.

"Kar," she finishes.

It's fine to share his name, but I feel respected that she was thoughtful enough to check.

"Nice to officially meet you Halarys and Kar," the acquaintance smiles.

"We've brought medical supplies," Halarys gestures to the tote I carry. "It's not much, but hopefully it will help."

Rallo's eyes grow big and she snorts a laugh, rubbing the back of her head in disbelief.

"Not much? Our medic is going to have a cheerful fit seeing this. _Vor'e_!!" she looks at her and then me with glistening eyes.

"It's the least we can do after you helped us find the monk," I nod at her, incredibly thankful for her assistance.

"So you did find her!" she exclaims triumphantly. 

"She was helpful, well, at least after the initial meeting," Halarys recalls, chuckling.

Rallo smiles, eyebrows raising, and nods as if she knows what Halarys is referring to. I'm guessing she'd probably had her fair share of run-ins with the acrobatic, sharp-tongued Togruta.

"Here, let me show you the temporary medic quarters so you don't have to carry that medical supply store for too much longer," she scoops her hand in the air, gesturing for us to follow into the base, _buy'ce_ pinned under her arm.

Paz still isn't in sight, so I follow, keeping an eye out for his large frame and the Armorer, as well as keeping tabs on Halarys and Kar in my periphery.

"I'm sorry to hear what happened here," I empathize, looking again to the mighty cliff and the damage it caused.

"The price of living next to the peak," Rallo glances over her shoulder like it's no big deal. 

I 'hmmm' in reply. Us Mandalorians weren't scared off that easily.

I scan around, a handful of other helmetless _Mando'ade_ watching from wooden porches as we pass, some with smiles and curt nods, and others with skeptical looks as they clean their _besbe'trayce_. It wasn't everyday they had new Mandalorians passing through, let alone ones with small, green foundlings. 

"The makeshift medic hut is this one, up on the right," our host motions to what looks to have been a residence, now repurposed for the wounded. 

I step up to the cobbled threshold, admiring the keen woodworking skills this clan possesses judging by the sturdy architecture and precise tongue-in-groove design.

"Kyta, we've supplies for you," Rallo shouts through an open window in the front, which at my angle, I cannot quite see into.

"Shhhhhh, my patients are trying to rest, Rallo," a hissing whisper scolds from the opening.

"Sorry," Rallo cringes and then huffs an embarrassed laugh, glancing at me then Halarys.

"You're lucky I like you and that you're the Alor's daughter," the whisper-voice muffles behind the door before it opens.

_So Rallo was this clan's Alor's daughter,_ I muse as the door cracks open.

My eyes track to the short form that appears. 

An Ugnaught. 

My mind immediately flashes back to Kuiil and all the guilt instantly floods my veins and stings my eyes.

"And _who_ are _you_?" she places the hand not gripping the door on her armored hip, scrutinizing eyes scanning up from my legs to my helm. I hadn't met her during my last visit. 

"Well?" she demands.

Ok, so she was a bit more poignant than Kuiil. I swallow back the emotion brimming in my throat and clear my voice.

"My name is Din. I'm from the same Tribe as Paz and the Armorer - she's my Alor," I nod. "And this is my _aliit_ \- Halarys, _ner riduur_ , and Kar, _ner_ _ad'ika_." I gesture to Halarys and Kar behind me. She squints her eyes, keeping a firm hand braced upon the opened door.

"They brought medical supplies," Rallo interjects.

The door opens a little wider at that prospect, and she looks back up at me, her eyes still deciphering if I'm trustworthy.

"Where would you like them?" I ask, hoisting the tote from my shoulder, and before I know it, Halarys snatches it.

"Tell me what I can do to help - I'm a healer as well," Halarys smiles, having removed her helm and Kar now wearing it, modulated giggles sounding from the _buy'ce_ as it swallows half his body. 

Kyta's eyes shift between Halarys and Kar's kriffing adorable display and then looks to Rallo for reassurance...or in annoyance. I'm not quite certain.

Rallo gives an encouraging nod.

"Fine," the healer concedes in an exasperated huff, opening the door fully and motioning them inside. 

I watch from the doorway as the skeptical Ugnaught is quickly won over by Halarys' compliments on her makeshift medbay and they shuffle to the back rooms where the wounded are no doubt resting. Kar coos under Halarys' helm and dare I say even brings a smile to the tough medic's face.

"Best to leave the healers to their work," Rallo chuckles.

I nod, feeling pride swell in my chest with how Halarys can make fast friends. Kuiil indeed would have enjoyed her company. A twinge pricks my _kar'ta_ at the bittersweet thought.

"Can I assist with anything? Salvage or repairs to the damaged structures or equipment?" I offer as we walk back into the center of town. 

Paz or the Armorer aren't yet in sight.

"We've mostly gathered all reusable materials at this point," she gestures at the adult dewback-sized boulders along with numerous smaller that lay where apparently the med hut had been. "And others are already working on rebuilding a new medical residence and fixing minor damage to the surrounding structures."

I then notice a pair of _Mando'ade_ working on the heavily-dented shuttle craft not too far from the heaviest of the debris. 

"I see," I reply with a nod. Although I wanted to help, I was their guest and it was their decision.

She comes to a slow stop, peering up at the steep rocky cliffside, "We've sent scouts to ensure no more major faults or weak areas exist. These were the largest that have fallen since we settled here years ago."

I look up to the towering plateau in the brightening morning light, which must stand a good 30 to 35 meters above the base at its highest point.

"You probably think us crazy for not relocating, but the cliff provides more protection than harm. And this has been our home since the Great Purge," she glances at me, then lets out a soft laugh, running her hand through her hair. "A few pebbles every now and again are but a small price to live here."

"You're not crazy. Your clan has found a _yaim_ to place roots down. It's admirable," I smile beneath my helm, somehow wishing she could see it instead of the stoic facade of my _buy'ce_ . Their _Way_ here is very tempting...even more so with Halarys and Kar in my life. To be free to remove my helmet at any time would be...life-changing. But thoughts as these still make a deeply-ingrained part me feel as though I'm teetering on the verge of _dar'manda_.

"My mother, Xeynia, our Alor, might like you yet," Rallo smiles then glances over to me. "She's quite fond of your Alor, the Armorer. As are all of us here. They're to be…," she cuts off, her eyes locking onto movement behind me. "Speaking of," she juts her chin in the same direction.

"Din Djarin," a familiar, strong female voice heralds from behind.

I turn, and bow in reverence as her golden, horned helmet nods back.

"Paz said you requested to see me. Let us speak in my quarters," she turns to walk back into the village.

" _Vor'e_ , Rallo," I curtly nod, then turn to follow suit.

I glance around and notice Paz is helping clean debris from the fall site. He notices and nods in solidarity as I follow our Alor. Halarys and Kar will keep busy with the medic, I surmise, but I'll try to keep this exchange brief. 

Beneath the _kar'ta beskar_ , my heart begins hammering like the war drums of ancestors past, quickening with each step I take. I'm still uncertain of how _she_ will react.

The blade lays hidden beneath my cloak, but suddenly the eyes of the _Mando'ade_ here seem to know and pierce right through it, watching intensely. Or perhaps it was the sight of me, a stranger yet, merely following the Armorer, _their_ new Armorer. Rallo was friendly, but that didn't mean every individual in her clan was exact in that sentiment, despite us all being _Mando'ade_.

"Here," the Matriarch gestures to one of the larger structures in the village ahead. I can see smoke billowing from a great stack at the back of the hut, up through the canopy of nearby trees.

I follow her over the stone pavers at its entrance and through its heavy wooden door.

A large smithing room is revealed: A great stone and clay kiln burning bright and hot, a cauldron filled with molten metal in its gaping center, and a plethora of tongs, mallets, molds organized on either side of the traditional furnace. It wasn't anywhere as high-tech of a set-up as the Covert possessed on Nevarro, but it was more than adequate. 

Of course this clan would be honored to have her skills and expertise. My chest swells bittersweetly that she appears to have utmost respect here, which I've never doubted. I can't help but yearn for our covert to _all_ be together again, even though bounties had often taken me far from them.

"Sit," she commands, seating herself on a double-sided workbench, perhaps used for teaching purposes. I grin slightly, thinking of her teaching the young here smithing skills.

I follow to sit on the opposite side to face her.

"Vor'e," I nod at her, my blood again mirroring the rapidly swirling molten metal brew behind her. 

"What brings you back so soon to see me, Din Djarin of The Mudhorn Clan of Three?" she implores.

My _kar'ta_ hiccups at the mention of my clan title, but instead of using words I fail to find, I reach back and grasp the hilt, working it free from my belt and bringing it to rest on the wooden table between us.

The air vibrates with energy. The blade's presence takes up the entire space - even when sheathed.

"The Darksaber," she almost whispers. 

If I wasn't mistaken, I'd say she was shocked. I hadn't expected a reaction other than her characteristic, unwavering stoicism.

"It belongs with you," I work up the nerve to speak, vocoder crackling more than I'd like in her presence.

"This blade carries with it a great responsibility, as you know," she says still, almond-eyed visor taking in the angles and craftsmanship of the hilt.

I've never seen her so seemingly captivated.

"A responsibility befitting of a wise leader like you," I bow my head.

"Despite having an appointed Alor, there are many leaders within this group - a clan that has so graciously provided me residence," her visor shifts up to mine.

I now see the dynamics of the new clan might prove difficult for her to openly wield the blade. And I suddenly feel like a _di'kut_ for putting her in this position…

But then an idea strikes.

"Perhaps it's archaic that only _one_ carries the honor of the Darksaber," I offer.

She considers me, piercing visor studying as if she can see beneath my armor, to my face and _kar'ta_. 

I swallow nervously - was I overstepping a line by suggesting the tradition change? Were these less-stringent _Mando'ade_ influencing me already? Does she think of me as foolish?

.

.

.

A few tense moments pass.

.

.

.

And finally...she nods. 

She agrees?

"Vor'e, Din Djarin of The Mudhorn Clan. You have served your _Mando'ade_ and _aliit_ very well," she bows her head to me and stands. "I shall present this to the special Clan Elex council tonight. A decision on how to proceed with it will be made democratically."

I nod and turn to leave, feeling a burden is lifted from my _kar'ta_. I just hope this decision doesn't stir any trouble or burden for her. But I wholeheartedly trust her judgment. 

\-----------------------------

I head to the medic hut to see Halarys and Kar before I attempt assisting Paz with whatever he'll allow - I want to notify the stubborn _Beskar-shebs_ of the Armorer's plan for the Darksaber in case it went sideways. I doubt anything would happen, especially since us Mandalorians are so few and also the fact we're no longer centralized to reign over easily. It would be a novelty to the clan, if anything, right? I was probably overthinking it. The Armorer seemed unphased at the prospect of sharing it - and plus she knew these _Mando'ade_ better than I.

As I pass through the village center, I'm greeted by mostly friendly faces, which reassure me the reveal of the Darksaber will be a nonissue. These are a kindly group of _verda_. 

I take note of the early morning light shining in the clear pale blue sky and how it looks to be another fair-weather day just before stepping onto the porch. I gently knock on the medic's door.

"Shhhhhhhh, come in or shut up," the snippy Ugnaught brusquely whisper-barks.

I can't help but chuckle at her...dedication.

I crack the door and step in, immediately noticing Halarys - she's stitching up the calf of what I surmise is one of the rock-slide victims who sits atop a dining-table-turned-examination-table.

"Sorry, I can leave," I avert my eyes, turning my back to their patient and looking out the open door.

"It's fine," the _Mando'ad_ replies through gritted teeth. 

I remain turned out of respect...and partly because of the needle. _Kriff_.

I hear Kar cooing - he must be watching too.

"Din, I'm almost done showing Kyta some different suturing techniques," Halarys speaks, her voice sounding very concentrated.

"See how you essentially close off the rectangle at one end? Just continue with even spacing down the laceration. It takes more time, but it more evenly distributes the pressure, is much stronger and less apt to pucker, and results in minimal scarring compared to a running stitch," she explains to the other healer. "I figure since your clan doesn't always wear your gear, cosmetic concerns might sometimes be a consideration."

The Ugnaught _hmmms_ in acknowledgement. 

"Is Kar learning stitches too?" I ask, watching out the door as a weaver across the way works on a loom, the shuttle rhythmically passing through the threads. 

"Not yet, but he's watching. Had to keep him from trying to _help_ ," she emphasizes that last word and I know what she means. "Now he's just watching from the corner, playing with a blood pressure cuff...Brel, are you doing ok?" Halarys' kind voice asks the man.

"Yes. Keep going," the patient assures, words stunted. He sounds as though he enjoys stitches as much as me - I somewhat feel sorry for him and rest my hands together to avoid fidgeting.

"Here, you try, Kyta," she encourages. I imagine her handing the needle to the Ugnaught as I stare aimlessly at the weaver.

"Ok. It's called what again? Horizontal mattress suturing technique?" she asks in confirmation.

"Yes! Just mimic the spacing I already started. Yep, start nearly a centimeter from the wound's edge and aim for a ninety-degree angle and twist the wrist to level out," her gentle voice reassures.

_Ok, as proud as I am of her skill as a physician, this has been more than enough needle-lessons for me._

I interrupt, "Dr. Djarin, I'm gonna assist Paz with clean up. Are you ok here for a while longer?" 

I'm slightly amused by using her new last name.

"Yes, she's good - you can leave now," the Ugnaught impatiently answers for her and Halarys chuckles.

"See you later Mister Dr. Djarin," my riduur lilts and I chuckle.

I peek quickly at Kar and smile seeing him having fun with seemingly harmless medical devices. 

_He's probably going to be a healer like his mother_ , I consider, feeling pride swell in my chest as I turn to walk out the door. He'd be a great one.

I walk through the village center as a small group of giggling young children playing tag rushes past, reminding me fondly of a certain backwater skughole. Kar would probably like to meet them...but he wouldn't be able to keep up physically. I watch as one of the kids full-on body-slams another and some of the nearby adults scold. 

Yeah, probably not safe. He seems to be having fun with Hal'ika and the other healer anyway, so I drop the thought.

I make my way to Paz, who works alone near the debris. He probably either intimidated or offended the two others I'd seen working nearby on the shuttle earlier. The thought makes me chuckle slightly.

"How did it go?" he asks, voice strained as he heaves a torso-sized rock onto a repulsorlift speeder.

"She accepted, but…," I hesitate, staring at the cliff face, wondering if I'm just overthinking it.

"But what?" he grumbles, lifting and heaving another boulder.

I step closer, quickly scanning around to ensure no one else is listening.

"She's going to _share_ it with this clan," I say in a lower voice, swallowing nervously. 

Moments pass and the heavy infantry just keeps at his task, lifting and heaving a couple more rocks.

"I trust her decision," Paz finally sighs, tossing another rather large rock into the growing pile. 

"I thought you of any one would be hesitant. You know the lore... _it_ attracts violence and...what if -?" I begin, taken aback by his lack of reaction (he's usually so traditionally-minded). My mind jumps to the worst-case scenarios that might unfold tonight, wondering if I might need to intervene and ready to use the Amban to protect _her._

"You know this clan's Alor is to wed our Alor, right?" he casually shares.

" _Me'ven_ ?!" she hadn't mentioned anything. Is that what she had meant by _'special council'_?

"Believe it. I've never seen the Armorer so _briikase_. Since the Covert dissolved, it's been a new start for most of us...I've even found someone," Paz busies himself with the debris.

" _Me'ven_?!" I feel like a broken holo recording. Paz found someone?

He sheepishly rubs the back of his helmet. "You recall Tulata, right?" 

"Our _baar'ur_?! The other beroya's sister?" I'm glad I wear the helmet to hide my dropped jaw.

"Yes...her," he says rather fondly, then grabs and hoists a very large piece, placing on the final vacant area of the repulsorlift's bed.

"Are you _riduure_ ? Wait, where is she?" I look around to see if I can spot Tulata's dark red armor. I had assumed that the Armorer and Paz were the only survivors when we reconnected a handful of nights ago; at the time, they hadn't mentioned anything of there being others, of being in contact with other survivors of the Tribe - but now I feel like a _di'kut_ for not asking outright.

"Yes, we have commenced _riduurok_ ," he grunts, picking up a rock then tossing to the lift. "She stayed behind in case she was needed by the others. Tharam, Bril, Fina, and many of the foundlings - we had settled on Garos with help from a couple of Ossus _Mando'ade_. It's a long story, but I'm just visiting the Alor for a couple weeks after she'd reached out to our coms. She had suggested we relocate the Tribe here. I was going to attempt convincing her to join us instead, but...she's quite committed to staying." Paz explains, staring defeatedly at the boulders.

"She's to become part of Clan Elex?" I ask semi-rhetorically, only half-believing the idea myself…

Paz grunts his affirmation.

As my mind searches for rationality, I suddenly recall Rallo had mentioned her _buir_ was fond of the Armorer - so THAT is what she meant by "fond". And if her _buir_ was anything like Rallo, they'd make an odd match, but who was I to judge? I married a part-Dathomirian, Force-sensitive non-Mandalorian.

"You just going to stand there and look shiny, or are you going to help?" he gruffs at me, pulling me from my internal thoughts of our Alor falling in love.

"Sorry, this news is very surprising," I croak as I join heaving rocks.

"Seems the Darksaber was an early wedding gift," he chortles.

I huff. _Guess so._

Paz tells me of his time on Garos and how the Ossus warrior, who is the owner of the now damaged shuttle, might literally kill him for it. 

I've never heard Paz sound anywhere near worried. This "Vayra" must be a real force to reckon with. I chuckle to myself. 

Then Paz explains how she and her _buir_ follow a Creed similar to this clan in that helmets can be removed freely. And when he shares that Tharam, the Tribe's other, slightly younger beroya, is romantically involved with her - I nearly drop a small boulder on my foot. 

"Tharam?" I huff a laugh in disbelief. I think of him as my goofy, younger _vod_ . I'd thought neither of us were quite cut out for _riduurok_ , given the nomadic life we led, but it seems I've been proven wrong on both our accounts.

A low rumbling chuckle sounds from Paz as he stacks another rock atop the large pile, but this time the repulsorlift creaks in retaliation.

"This lift can't take anymore - let's go empty it in the woods," he decides, circling around and setting the controls to follow behind him. It follows quite sluggishly with its large quarry.

As we dispose of the rocks, he continues with stories that are truly entertaining. Paz seemed to be happy to talk with me for once and I was thankful no punching or vibroblades were involved. Perhaps him ' _getting some'_ was a gift to the galaxy. But in all seriousness, I was happy for him and Tulata; besides, she was always the only one besides the Armorer who could talk some sense into his thick _buy'ce kovid_.

As Paz and I return from dumping the debris, Rallo strolls up with Halarys and Kar in tow and encourages us to eat lunch. She graciously provides us with a private hut so we can eat comfortably together as an _aliit_. Paz gets his own as well.

A large pot of something, wooden bowls, spoons, a basket of fresh bread, glasses and a pitcher of water sit upon a table.

We wash up and Halarys ladles the dish into our bowls.

_Tiingilar_ \- of course! 

"Looks and smells amazing," she compliments, taking her helmet from Kar's reach so he's not distracted. She then tests the temperature on her lips before setting a bowl in front of Kar. 

"Spicy!" she chuckles, eyes wide. "Do you think it's ok for him?" she pulls it from his reach and he peeps in retaliation.

"He's had something similar before and loved it," I smile, removing my helmet and taking in the savory aroma as she sets my serving in front of me.

"A traditional dish I take it?" she smiles, nudging his bowl back toward him and he greedily starts sipping from the brim, making her laugh.

"Mhhhmm - Tiingilar. Thanks Hal'ika," I smile at her, feeling my stomach pang and mouth water. 

_I'm really getting soft...I just ate this morning_

"Tingeelahr," she exaggeratedly enunciates. 

From what I can tell, it’s made with local freshwater fish and tubers. It’s indeed spicier than the tamed version I’d made for Halarys and Kar prior, but besides needing some extra bread and water (and napkins to wipe watery noses), they thoroughly enjoy it.

“So, the medic seems fond of you,” I smirk, taking a bite of my second bowl of delicious stew.

She huffs a laugh and blushes. “I taught her some things and she taught me a few in return."

“Hmm. What did she teach _you_ ?” I ask curiously, quirking a brow and thoroughly savoring the spice, reminiscent of my childhood as a foundling and my _buir_.

Her bright eyes flash at me in a smile; she then giggles when Kar burps loudly, announcing he's finished his second bowl. She leans to wipe his face and hands with a cloth. 

“She gave me some samples of local herbs mixtures that help reduce pain and inflammation when consumed as a tea,” she leans toward me, chuckling and covering the kid’s ears, “however, it tasted like Rancor piss.”

I about choke on my mouthful of bread as I laugh at her description and cover my mouth.

She releases Kar’s ears and he giggles as she adjusts his smock.

“It works though. Her wounded all had decent pain control and minimal swelling before our delivery of bacta. And she also taught me how to use some of her simple-yet-effective medical tools for assessments,” she adds, setting Kar aside to play with her helmet again while we finish our meal. “They don't possess as much high-tech equipment here, but I think she most appreciated my stitching skills. It's something she can continue long after the bacta runs out.”

Her eyes lock onto mine as I stuff my mouth with more of the delicious, nutted bread. A grin breaks on her face and she laughs.

"Hmmmmm?" I muffle, wondering what she's giggling about.

“So how did the Darksaber handoff go?” she nudges her bowl against mine with a clink.

“Mmmmm,” I mutter through the bite, nodding. 

“Knock-knock,” Rallo’s voice sounds loudly outside the door.

I quickly slip on my helmet, quickly finishing the mouthful and clearing my throat.

“Come in,” I reply loudly at the door.

The door opens, revealing Rallo and...the weaver - I recognize her from earlier. She holds a decent stack of neatly folded, charcoal grey garments in her hands. 

I stand to greet them.

“My name is Mina,” she smiles warmly. “I’m one of the textile artisans and tailors. Kyta is a dear friend and the service you provided for our village cannot go unthanked. I insist you take these as proof of our gratitude,” she steps closer to me and holds out the immaculate clothing.

“There’s a new flight suit for both of you, as well as a new smock for the little one...and a new cape too - I couldn’t help but notice the one you don is rather... _weathered_ ,” she says as politely as she can, green eyes glancing down to the ratty edges that graze my boots. 

I clear my throat and blush.

“I cannot -,” I try to get out of the overly generous gift. 

She enthusiastically shoves the folded stack into my arms, eliciting from me a grunt that comes too easily on account of my full stomach. 

“Shush, I insist. There is always more material where that came from. We have native silkworms that make sturdy thread - the _special_ leaves we feed them make the fibers resistant to normal wear and tear and are even launderable,” she smiles proudly, clasping her hands together. “You should wear them tonight to the Alor's _riduurok_ celebration.”

Halarys hooks her arm in mine and studies with a smile the new clothing in my arms.

“Alright Mina, let’s let them finish their meal,” Rallo says, a deep mauve coloring her cheekbones - she then mouths a _sorry_ for the intrusion and they turn to retreat out the door. 

“ _Vor’e_ ,” I mutter, stunned, as they walk over the threshold, feeling the utmost gratitude for such a kind, expensive gift. This clan was incredibly generous.

“Thank you,” Halarys echos as they nod and shut the door behind them.

She turns to look at me, brow raised and head tilted. “A wedding celebration?” 

She was quickly picking up on _Mando'a_.

I explain to her what I’d gleaned from Paz’s conversation and how the Darksaber was received. 

“Well, it's certainly an occasion to dress for,” she smiles, taking the clothing from my hands.

We finish eating and after a quick goodbye kiss (giggles escaping her as she claims her lips are still tingling and numb from the stew), she falls back to Kar-duty as I return to join Paz.

This time he allows me to assist with shuttle repairs. And _haar'chak_ did it endure some damage.

Paz works on the external repairs, deciding that because I was smaller, I could more easily fit under the dash to make the necessary fixes there.

Adding to the insult, the giant _shebs_ teases that Vayra and Thar _'did it'_ in there and not to get too close to the backseats.

I roll my eyes as I slide over the pilot chair before positioning underneath the dash.

Then he adds, "Oops, forgot to mention Tulata and I might have had some fun in the front seats." 

A rumbling chuckle escapes him and I bump my helmet under the storage compartment, jarred and disturbed by the image of Paz's hulking figure being intimate…

The compartment pops open and something falls out, landing over my visor. I quickly grab it off and my eyes adjust to see what it is.

_What the?_ My brain tries to decipher the shape of the off-white cloth.

“Kriff!!!”

“ _Me’ven_?” Paz shouts looking through the window. 

He watches as I fumble with the enormous briefs, trying desperately to stuff them back into the compartment away from me.

He roars with sadistic laughter. “That’s where those went!”

I finally slam the door shut. I’ll need to clean my helmet and gloves extra well tonight, wishing I could do the same with my brain in regards to that unwanted encounter.

"You want me to help with repairs?" I grouse, lifting from my spot to better glare at him.

"Don't act so prudish, _beroya_. Like you aren't doing it with _your_ _baar'ur_ all over your rust-bucket starship," he chuckles through the open door.

My veins grow hot and my skin flushes. I don't dignify him with an answer and continue rewiring the ignition and throttle controls.

"Can't even deny it," he smugly chortles, shaking the shuttle to try to rile me up.

I don't give in and just keep to my task.

Paz maintains less-personal subjects for the rest of the time (for which I'm thankful). We make great progress and before I know it, it’s growing darker.

Halarys slides up donning her new, less form-fitting flight suit with Kar, who wears his new, better-fitting attire as well.

“How’s it going on repairs?” she beams. 

“Going well," I lift myself up from under the dash to better see them. She's wearing cosmetics - black lines run over her cheekbones, forehead, and chin in geometric patterns, reminiscent of traditional tribal makeup; her lips are blood-red and her eyes are lined with even darker coloring, making their irises even more piercing. I've never seen her wear any makeup before - she was _mesh'la_ either way, but my _kar'ta_ catches in my throat at the new look.

" _Mesh'la_ , _ner aliit_ ,” I smile beneath the helm at them both.

She spins, striking some poses, showing off the new undersuit. Her hair is also braided into a style that's up off her neck mostly. I loved seeing her face.

“It’s a lot more comfortable,” she grins brightly. 

“Looks like it,” I chuckle, recalling her mentioning at times that the other one rode up in... _certain_ places.

"And don't worry, this isn't a tattoo," she points to her face.

"I wouldn't mind if it was," I speak before I think, blushing at my candidness in front of Paz.

She giggles and Kar coos.

“You should clean up and get ready,” she encourages. “Both of you,” she then glances at Paz who grunts in acknowledgement. 

“Alright _cyar’ika_ , just let me finish up this wiring and then I’ll get changed,” I say, a smile in my voice.

Rallo soon comes strolling up, armor looking extra polished and wearing traditional warrior makeup as well, but hers is white to stand out against her skin. I can only assume Halarys had been invited to the wedding reception preparations, and it made my heart smile at the thought of her bonding with other _Mando'ade_.

“How’s it going here? We’re going to start the reception soon,” she smiles widely. 

“Only another ten minutes or so,” Paz chimes in and I nod in agreement.

“Great, see you all soon,” she grins at all of us and then sprints back into the village.

Halarys and Kar stick around until we wrap up repairs. 

I tell Paz there's probably another couple hours of work before it'd be running, and he insists he can manage the rest on his own, thanking me for my help. I don't think Paz has ever thanked me. Vayra must really be a worry for him, and the thought makes me snicker.

I follow Halarys and Kar back to the hut we’d had lunch in earlier to clean up and change.

After washing my helmet and gloves from the surprise run-in with the contents of the shuttle’s glove compartment (again lamenting the fact I cannot wipe my memory clean of the incident), I quickly shuck off my armor, flak vest, and _kute_ , swapping out for the new base-garment.

“Wow, it looks sharp on you,” she comments as I straighten out the sleeves and bend to ensure no unwanted tightness in certain areas.

“Fits very well. Almost like it was measured for me,” I huff a laugh, wondering how in the parsec the tailor had sized me up that well. 

She holds Kar close to her and steps near, running her freehand over the fabric on my arm and then my chest.

“It’s a soft material,” she hums, smiling and running her hand down to my hip.

If she keeps touching me like that, it’s going to start fitting a lot less well.

I clear my throat and nod at Kar who observes our interactions intently.

Halarys’ cheeks blush a bright pink, realizing she’s getting me wound up and chuckles.

“Sorry, you’re so handsome,” she grins, then pecks me on my cheek, making me blush even more furiously. 

My heart thumps against my ribs at her enamored look and compliment. 

“Alright, let’s get going,” she insists.

I finish attaching my armor, new cape, and lastly helmet. 

“Wow,” she grins. “You really did need a new cape.”

I laugh to myself, because it's true.

‐-----------------------------------------------------

We gather with the clan around the bonfire, the same one I'd sat at with the Armorer less than a week ago to ask for her blessing in _my_ marriage. And now here I stand in celebration of hers.

The Armorer and a middle-aged woman, seemingly an older version of Rallo but with a grey streak in her hair and similar intricate white facial makeup, stand in front of the clan at least a few dozen strong, behind a great, ornately carved wooden table brimming with a rather extravagant spread of dishes and desserts - a real _ori’skraan_. Elders sit to either side of them at the display. 

The elder nearest this clan’s Alor, stands up, raising a drink.

“Let us celebrate the _riduurok_ between Xeynia Elex, our respected Alor, and Rammira Smiderek, The Armorer and _kotep_ Alor of the Tribe!” 

The crowd erupts in cheering. 

I’m still shocked by the union, but very happy for the Armorer. I'm also a little nervous for what I assume comes next. 

The cheers die down and the crackling of the bonfire heightens in the night air, light dancing off everyone's armor.

Together, the Alors reach and produce the hilt of the Darksaber from the table, holding it high.

The blade activates in the night sky, and ignites the cheers even louder than before. Amidst the cheering, I make out excited chatter regarding the blade. I keep an ear out for any ill intent. 

“We will hold the Darksaber _together_ ,” Xeynia announces proudly looking out at her people, “along with _each_ one of you. We _all_ hold the responsibility of Walking The Way of the Mandalore, regardless of interpretation of the _Resol’nare_ ,” she looks at the Armorer who nods in reverence. 

I swear I’ve never seen _her_ armor glow so bright. 

“ _Mhi solus tome_ _!_ ” they proclaim proudly together.

“ _Mhi solus tome_ _!_ ” the clan repeats and cheers.

The air is buzzing with the electricity of the moment of solidarity and the Darksaber. I can’t help but get caught up in the moment, tears stinging my ears.

“See, nothing to worry about,” Paz claps my back rather hard, knocking the wind from me.

Halarys shoots him a glare and then gives me an apathetic look.

I’m just relieved I was worried about nothing.

One of the very oldest-appearing elders stands up from the front table and shouts, throwing a shaky fist into the air, “Let’s _epar!_ ” [eat]

Wind instruments and traditional ceremonial drums kick off the libations.

\--------------------------------------------------

The festivities run late into the night, with plentiful food, drink and dancing. 

Rallo and Halarys, holding a giggling Kar, pull me into the dancing, but I mostly stand there as they jump around me. I feel contentment at seeing her fitting in so well with other Mandalorians. Perhaps we would need to visit Paz and the others on Garos. Plus she'd love Tulata.

The Armorer is much too busy being greeted by her official new clanmates for me to say more than _'oya'_ , but she seems truly happy and revered here. Her and Xeynia earnestly request us to visit whenever we’d like and thank me for bringing the great honor of the Darksaber to their clan.

Kar grows tired and Halarys has enjoyed a bit too much of the _tihaar_ -mixer. In the hut they'd provided us, I gather our old flight suits, my tattered cape, and Kar's original smock, placing in the now-empty tote that had carried the medical supplies here.

My Hal'ika leans into me on the walk back to the Crest, looking at me with her medic settings and telling me I have good organs, which makes me chuckle.

“Nice to know. Thank you, cyar’ika,” I reply as she leans closer. Kar is now fast asleep against my other shoulder. With my HUD, I scan the area for any threats, finding none.

We finally make it back to the ship, my legs still aching from our long hike yesterday and arms aching from lifting rocks today. The last steps up the ramp are rough.

_I’m definitely getting soft...but they make it worth it,_ I think to myself as I glance to both of them in my embrace and shut the ramp. 

I’m going to have to be fit enough to take a job from Karga...

Halarys is almost asleep against me and I move to set her on the bed, taking her medic bag and setting it beneath the cot.

“T-thank you, r-riduur,” she drunkenly mumbles and she nestles into the bed, in full armor.

I go to set sleeping Kar in his pram.

“Goodnight _ad’ika_ , _ner_ _baar’ur’ika_ ,” I smile, closing him in for the night. 

Now that my arms are free, I slip the dirty-clothes tote from my shoulder to the floor.

I return to the bedroom and Halarys is already snoring.

“Hey _cyar’ika_ ,” I say softly and lift off her helmet, her face full of smudged warrior paint. It's rather cute and makes my _kar'ta_ stutter.

“Hmmm,” she mumbles, stirring slightly.

I help her out of the remainder of her _beskar’gam_ , and she looks more comfortable.

I put away the Amban (relieved I hadn't needed to use it) and then clean our old flight suits and Kar’s smock. I set them to dry before removing my armor and new kute, and then grab a ration bar and drink a glass of water before finally joining Halarys in bed.

A very busy day indeed, I muse, as she cuddles close, head resting on my bare chest and the cosmetics smearing on me, but I don't mind...

Despite being utterly exhausted, my mind circles around one thing: I still have to tell her about returning to bounty hunting. 

><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><

**Mando'a Vocab**

**Ad'ika:** Son

 **Auretii riduur:** Outsider wife 

**Baar'ur:** Medic

 **Baar’ur’ika:** Little medic - likely not accurate Mando’a, but it’s cute

 **Beroya:** Bounty hunter

 **Besbe'trayc(e):** Weapon(s)

 **Beskar'gam:** Mandalorian armor

 **Briikase:** Happy

 **Buy'ce:** Helmet

 **Cyar'ika:** Sweetheart, beloved

 **Dar'manda:** A state of having lost one's Mandalorian heritage, and therefore one's identity and soul; regarded with absolute dread by most traditional-minded Mando'ade - a fate worse than death; it means one would be denied acceptance into the manda, the Mandalorian afterlife

 **Epar:** Eat

 **Haal:** Breath

 **Haar'chak:** Damn, damn it

 **Kar'ta:** Heart, soul

 **Kar'ta beskar:** The diamond-shaped recess in the center of Mandalorian cuirasses, an ancient symbol

 **Kotep:** brave

 **Kotyc:** strong

 **Kovid:** Head

 **Kute:** Flight suit

 **Mand'alor:** Sole ruler/leader of Mandalore

 **Mesh'la:** Beautiful

 **Me'ven:** What? Huh? (to express bewilderment or disbelief)

 **Mhi solus tome:** We are one together (from the Mandalorian marriage vows, addressed to the entire clan in support of unity)

 **Ner:** My

 **Ori’skraan:** Feast (slang)

 **Oya:** Cheers 

**Riduur:** Husband or wife (gender neutral as much of Mando'a is)

 **Riduure:** Spouses

 **Riduurok:** Marriage, lovebond

 **Shebs:** Ass, backside

 **Sheb'ika:** Booty, butt (Din is cheeky. Thanks to @kotoswtor for Tumblr Mando'a lessons **❤** )

 **Su cuy'gar:** Hello

 **Tihaar:** clear alcoholic beverage from fruit

 **Tiingilar:** Mandalorian stew/chili. Monstrously spicy!

 **Verda:** Warriors

 **Vod:** Comrade, brother

 **Vor'e:** Thanks

><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><

**Note:** I named the Armorer based on the old Norse word for strong, "rammr" and smith, “smiðr”. She looks like a badass Viking!

><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><

**Bonus outtake** (at the wedding reception bonfire with libations flowing):

→ _Although he’s not mentioned, Kar is sitting near Din in a spare weaved bassinet provided by one of the generous Elex clanmates, nearly asleep from his long, hard day as a baar’ur’ika_

_\--------------------------------_

After a few cheerful rounds of the extra-strength _tihaar_ -mixer (I can smell it through my helmet), Halarys does her show of the helmet displays that connect to my vitals and internal imaging for the Ugnaught healer in honor of the Armorer’s, uh Rimmira’s, talents. 

Kyta obliges, slipping on the helmet and giggling from her fair share of drinks. Regrettably, she stands approximately crotch-height to me as the visor adjusts. The gasping snort that escapes her tells of seeing something she rather wouldn't have, sending an embarrassed rapid heat to the surface of my skin and I shake my head.

Halarys giddily giggles, catching onto the unfortunate height difference.

"Your medic wasn't adept at setting bones," the petite medic snorts, panning over my ribs and upper limbs.

Paz growls from behind me.

"Didn't really have time to see one between bounties," I reply dryly, folding my arms, not particularly amused to be on display to the acquaintance, but Halarys is having fun so I endure it.

" _Beroya_ , huh? That explains a lot," she huffs, looking up at my chest. 

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" I cock my helm down at her, sounding a little snarkier than intended.

"Hmmm, your _riduur_ has hypertension,” she disregards the question, addressing Halarys who chuckles uncontrollably, enjoying my torment.

“Your Armorer is quite talented," Kyta says, sliding the _buy’ce_ over her head and handing it back to Halarys, who has a bright, cheeky grin on her face. “I might need to ask for one of those.”

"See, she appreciates the Armorer’s talents too," Hal'ika beams at me, face flushed from the libations.

She’s lucky she’s so damn... _cute_. 

🥰

><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><

**Author note:**

I hope this one lived up to Din's nature, how he might interact in this situation with other Mandos, and the incredible Mandalorian culture. I also hope you like Din's POV! 

And I must credit the AMAZING, TALENTED MiJo71 on AO3 (@gallowsjoker on Tumblr) for allowing me to include her original characters (Tharam, Tulata, and Vayra) into my lame story...we had been teasing about doing a crossover for awhile! Please check out her awesome story, [ Colours of Manda’yaim ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24452008/chapters/59006740) on AO3. (Thanks for letting me mooch, MiJo!)

As always, thank you for reading, lovelies **❤** _Next stop, medical supply shopping in Theed and beroya adventures!_

-> The next chapter should be out by the end of September (likely sooner).


	36. The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior- Episode XXXVI: Nuhaatyc Aru'e [The Unseen Enemy]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din, Halarys and Kar enjoy a relaxing morning on the Crest and run errands, but it sets a false sense of security.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Violence at the end.

“Mmmmmmm.”

I snap awake.

“Halarys, are you ok?” I peer down at her silhouette, the source of the moaning.

“I’m feeling that alcohol,” she rubs her temple, her warmth and weight shifting off my chest. “Your heart is too loud...or maybe it’s mine...uuggghh...everything’s too loud.”

A sympathetic pang twinges my core that she's not feeling well. 

_My poor Hal'ika._

“Can I get you something?” I ask softly as she sits up in the cot. I smooth my hand over her back to try to comfort her.

“Mmmmmmmmm,” she grumbles then turns to look at me in the faint glow of guide-lights. “What the hells is all over your chest?”

I glance down, finding large dark smudges - I quickly realize it's from the warrior paint she'd worn last evening for the Armorer's _riduurok_ and huff a laugh.

“Your face,” I reply, looking back up at her with a humored grin, not being able to see much of her features in the dim backlighting from the cargo bay.

She takes a beat and then chuckles in realization.

“Ugh, my head,” she laments, “don’t make me laugh,” she humorously pleads.

“Here, let me grab you some water," I shift past her to the edge of the bed. "I should have made you stay hydrated, _cyar’ika_."

“I didn’t want to pee in their village,” she reminds me.

I laugh lightly, lifting from the edge of the bed. I flip on the lights to half-brightness, but it still earns a protesting groan from my _riduur_.

"Sorry, Hal'ika," I mutter, glancing at her squinted face that quickly buries itself beneath the covers. 

_I want to make her feel better._

I turn and go to fill a glass in the sink, looking at the medicine chest.

“Do you want some pain medication? Or I could ask Kyta for some of the Rancor-piss tea?” I ask, not being able to resist mentioning the pain-relieving tea she'd tried with the other medic yesterday.

She moans with disgust at my offer. 

“I’m sorry _cyar’ika_ ,” I chuckle, "Just some standard pain medication then." I reach down balancing the water in one hand and rummage with the other until I locate the desired pills. 

_I hope I'm not bugging her too much._

I return to the bedroom, feeling guilty for teasing her as she emerges from beneath her fabric cocoon - I hand her the glass and offer an analgesic tablet. 

She looks disheveled, but in the most endearing way: Braided hair a bit mussed, the warrior lines indeed _very_ smudged all over her white skin, and she's wearing her new sturdy silk _kute_ \- it makes me smile. Although I feel conflicted for finding it cute when she's under the weather.

"Thank you," she looks up at me, eyes still managing their sunny brightness despite feeling under the weather.

She takes the pill, studying it for a moment before popping it into her mouth and draining the glass quickly.

"Do you need more water?" I ask, taking the empty cup. 

_She must have been thirsty._

"No, but I should probably eat something with that," she looks up at me with undeniable, pleading eyes.

_I'd do anything for her._

"I'll make breakfast - I can make nearly anything in the synthesizer. You have anything in mind?" I ask, turning to set the glass on a crate in the bay before turning back to her. 

"As long as it doesn't contain alcohol, it'll be good," she chuckles then holds her head with a groan.

"Alright, I know just the thing. It'll be done in less than two minutes," I reach down and slip on my pants at the foot of the cot. "You just rest, _ner kar'ta_."

"Thank you," she smiles and lays back down, massaging her temples.

I place the dirty glass in the dish collector and grab a plate from the built-in storage compartment. After centering the plate inside, I program eggs and hashed root vegetables into the machine.

"Boooeeerrr," Kar purrs inside his pram nearby.

"You hungry too you little womp rat?" I chuckle, setting another serving for him. 

I go over and press the control to open his pod, revealing a very awake kid.

"Booooeeerrr," he reaches upward with his arms and glistening dark eyes. 

" _Jate vaar'tur,_ _ner Kar'ta_ ," I hush as I lift him up, his hands finding my bare face. "Good morning, my heart."

 _He still finds me interesting,_ I huff a laugh as large, curious eyes and small hands sweep over my features. _But kriff, he's either getting heavier or I'm really just that stiff from cleaning up boulder debris in the village yesterday…_

I study his little form and the new smock.

"Your new clothes suit you," I croon, bringing him against my non-makeuped shoulder. He clutches on my bare skin, and I'm suddenly very thankful Halarys had trimmed his nails last evening.

The synthesizer soon completes the savory meal, and Kar is already reaching with greedy grabby hands.

I grab a couple forks and stick them in the dish.

"He's not going to wait," I set him down on the cot beside her and hand her the steaming plate. 

"Hey Kar," she smiles, scruffling the baby hair upon his head. She then looks at me in adoration - for what I'm unsure. 

"How are you feeling?" I ask, grabbing a fork and offering the eager kid a mouthful, which he devours on a blink.

"The medication is doing its thing," she smiles at me and begins to eat. "Mmmmm," she hums pleasurably.

_It warms me to my core that she enjoys the food and is feeling better. Perhaps now is a good time to bring up plans for the day._

"I thought we'd stop by Theed again before we leave Naboo - they have a good med supply center and I want to pick up something for the Crest," I offer plans for the day as Kar continues to snarf forkful after forkful.

Her eyes light up.

"I'd love that!" she speaks around a mouthful, holding up a modest hand to cover while she talks. 

_I contemplate if now is a good time to also bring up our financial state, which will dwindle even more by the end of today, but decide against it. The discussion of me returning to bounty hunting or taking mercenary jobs will likely only add to her headache._

_I'll tell her later..._

We finish the meal, Halarys making sure I eat a decent portion before Kar licks the plate clean.

"There, no need for the dishwasher," she chuckles. 

I laugh as I take the plate and utensils, getting up to put them away in the collector. I return to find _ner riduur_ reclining back in bed and Kar crawling over her, eliciting giggles from both parties.

"Alright, let's let _buir_ rest, _ad'ika_ ," I say to the green bottomless pit, plucking him from the sheets and earning a protesting squeak. I set him to play with his toys in the corner by the bedroom, but not before he demands to make sure my heart is still working with that thing Pershing gave him.

"Bah krrrrrrrtah," he points and reaches up to me with the contraption already in his ears.

" _Kar'ta_?" I ask, pointing at my chest and exaggeratedly cocking my head. 

"Boooeer karrrtah!" he chirps in agreement. 

_I feel immensely proud he's learning Mando'a and I can't deny his infectious enthusiasm._

He reaches up to me again excitedly.

"Ok, but make this quick - _buir_ needs to finish chores," I sit down before him, glancing at Hal'ika who watches lovingly from the bedroom with the biggest smile on her smudged face. 

_She must be feeling better._

"Gah!" he assures brevity as he crawls into my lap. With his little hand gripped around the disk, he presses the other side to the center of my bare chest - its cold temperature surprises me, eliciting a small gasp. 

_I'm going soft if a little cold makes me flinch...but_ Manda _is he_ copikla _._

His dark eyes widen and he studies my face. 

_Only the little womp rat could get away with such a thing..._

"Everything ok? Am I _jahaala_ ? Am I _healthy_?" I ask him, tilting my head and raising my eyebrows as he watches and listens intently.

After a few more moments of thoughtful analysis, he enthusiastically babbles his thoughts, removing the metal from my chest and then the earpieces from his ears, before sliding off my lap and toddling off to check on his stuffed animals.

I glance over to find Halarys smiling very brightly from the cot.

"Guess I'm all good," I huff a laugh.

"You're such a good father," the lilt in her voice is saccharine, making my chest swell and my skin flush pink. 

I shift to my feet, feeling more than a little stiff from hauling rocks yesterday. 

_Kriff, definitely getting soft_ , I grumble to myself.

"Well, if you're looking for a second opinion, I think you are quite _jahalah_ ," she enunciates the _Mando'a_ word, grabbing my attention. 

_She's been listening._

" _Tion serim?_ Is that so?" I quirk a brow as she gets up from the cot.

She steps close, rising on her toes, delicate hands splayed over my chest. 

_She must really be feeling better._

"And _mesh'la_ ," she hushes, her lips touching mine and then pressing into an eager kiss. 

_Yep, she feels really good._

My arms wrap around her, holding her flush against me. Her silk _kute_ is smooth and warm against my bare skin. It makes my knees weak...as other parts grow more _sturdy_. She lifts away and giggles.

"You're going to need to wash up too," she covers her mouth bashfully, no doubt referring to a black smudge on my face.

"I don't mind," I lean in for another pleasured kiss, which further steals my _haal_.

She giggles, looking up at me with piercing blue eyes that carry their own light, like _meshuroke_.

"I should clean up so we can get a start on our day," she pats my chest, returning to normal height. She then presses a kiss over my _kar'ta_ , coaxing from it a faster rhythm.

"Sounds good, Hal'ika. I think I'll join," I say, becoming momentarily lost in the facets of her eyes. 

She grabs my wrist and leads me to the 'fresher - thankfully, Kar remains entertained with his stuffed animals.

 _I don't really need a full shower and should probably conserve the water,_ I decide as she releases my wrist and begins stripping off her _kute._

"I'll let you have the shower, Hal'ika," I lamentingly share as she drapes the clothing over the 'fresher door. Her silken, porcelain skin shines to me like a beacon.

 _I very much regret the small shower in this moment_ , I think as overworked muscles protest, lacking the agility needed to contort around her.

"Ok," she almost dejectedly responds. "Well, it's a little cramped with two in here anyway," she rationalizes, chuckling.

"It's not quite like the hotel shower," I huff a slightly disappointed laugh, thinking back to the multiple shower heads and ample tile wall for pushing her up against... 

I can't help but watch as she reaches the knob to turn on the water, her full _sheb'ika_ on display, and I swallow a nervous lump in my throat. My brain struggles to focus on anything else as my pulse grows thick and heavy like the steam starting to rise from the rushing water.

"Let me grab you a towel," I wheeze, turning my attention before my physical desires intensify.

Kar's still thoroughly at play in the corner as I grab a cloth for me and a towel for her. I turn back and the shower has already managed to steam up the small room. I set the towel on the small sink counter.

"The water feels _so_ good," she hums contentedly.

"You're making a very strong case for me to join," I glance in the fogged mirror, catching her diffuse figure in the reflection as I wet the cloth in the faucet.

I attempt wiping the black pigment from my face and chest. But that doesn't quite cut it, so I lather up some soap and scrub the rest away. 

I swipe the mirror's fog to better see as I rinse, staring at my reflection.

 _I still don't see what she sees in me_ , I think, studying the scars and scant grey hairs. _It must have been_ jate'kara, I huff a befuddled laugh.

I ultimately decide against shaving, given she seems to like what facial hair I manage to grow, and I rinse my mouth with enzyme wash.

The 'fresher soon steams up the mirror again as she continues her shower. 

"If you keep taking showers like that, I'm going to need to refill the water tank twice a week," I chuckle. 

_I wouldn't mind if water wasn't relatively scarce to the Outer Rim territories._

"I'm feeling back to full power now," she smiles as I turn around to face her.

"You look refreshed," I say as she turns off the water.

"So do you," she purrs, water droplets all over her naked form, rivulets coursing from her hair. My eyes involuntarily chase them down soft curves that make my _kar'ta_ seize. 

She comes closer, leaning in for the towel with her soft breasts grazing against my chest.

I swallow nervously, thoroughly enamored, and swimming in her presence.

She runs the towel through her hair and over her face. 

" _Mesh'la_ ," I mutter without really realizing, pulse as heavy as the weight of the water in her hair.

She smiles, aquamarine eyes shining in the soft lighting. She leans in again, lifting up to kiss my lips.

Her damp skin against mine - the combined heat between us nearly evaporates it. She runs her hand over my chest, over my _kar'ta_ . I know she must feel the immeasurable _kar'tayl darasuum_ I carry for her.

She gently lowers down, lifting away. My body aches at the loss of her presence and I reflexively pull her into my arms.

She melts into my embrace and against my chest.

"What is your word for breathing?" she nuzzles into my chest.

She catches me off-guard a bit.

" _Haalur_ ," I reply curiously. "Why do you ask?"

"You make it hard to _haalur_ you know," she says lightheartedly.

"I can say the same about you too, _ner mesh'la,_ " I smirk, with a chuckle.

"How do you say 'thank you'?" I feel her cheek shift as she looks up for an answer.

I look down upon her lovely face, commiting each soft curve, eyelash, and vein to memory.

" _Vor'e_."

"Vohr-ay," she enunciates. " _Vor'e_ for helping me feel better." She looks up into my eyes.

My skin flushes and chest swells at her use of _Mando'a._

She places a kiss over my very full _kar'ta_ and leans back.

" _Ba'gedet'ye_ \- you're welcome," I reply, earning from her pinkened cheeks and another soft kiss on my chest.

Before we get too carried away, we focus on continuing getting ready as Kar maintains his playing. 

"What should I wear today? This or this?" she steps in front of me, holding up the silk blue dress from Karga next to her new _kute_ from the Ellex Clan.

I feel a blush sweep over me as she stands naked, and asking my opinion.

I clear my throat.

"The flightsuit is more practical, maybe less distracting," my voice breaks. 

_I still get light-headed around her..._

"The flightsuit it is! Should I don the armor too?" she implores me for my opinion.

"Just to be on the safe-side - Theed is fairly safe, but if I'm recognized…," I start feeling a bit foolish for planning a visit to such a populous area.

"I'll wear it just in case," she smiles, placing a hand on my shoulder, the blue dress traipsing against my skin, drawing my attention back to her breathtaking form.

"Blue is your color," she says with a light laugh, comparing the dress' color to my skin.

"I believe it is," I lean in for a kiss, which leaves me even more breathless.

She turns to get dressed and I busy myself with checking the ship's powercore and coolant system. I make some minor adjustments to the refrigerant pressure given we've been out of the vacuum of space for awhile. Once everything appears to be running at optimal efficiency, I replace the paneling and turn back into the cargo bay to find an armored Halarys playing with Kar.

"Ready to go?" I ask them.

"Yes Captain Djarin!" she widely smiles, making my chest flutter - a feeling I will never grow tired of. 

I nod and dip into the bedroom to slip on my _buy'ce_ , before jaunting up the ladder to the cockpit. Leaving the village area should be much less risky in terms of exposing their location, so it's fine to leave during daylight hours.

I hear Hal'ika padding up the ladder, prompting me to turn.

"We thought we'd join you," she holds Kar who is already mischievously eyeing all the buttons. 

I nod as she stands there. 

_She looks beyond_ mesh'la _in Naboo's natural morning light._

"I'd take that flight lesson now if you're up for it," she mutters.

My _kar'ta_ stutters. _She wanted to learn?_

"Definitely, Hal'ika," I say, beaming beneath my _buy'ce_. "Have a seat." I pat my thighs.

She gives me a humorous eyeroll and laughs.

"Something tells me you're going to enjoy this," she says to me, setting Kar to the passenger seat.

"My _riduur_ should only have the best seat in the ship, and plus I need to stay close in case lessons go sideways," I explain. 

_Ok, I mostly just wanted to hold my mesh'la riduur close._

She seats her lovely backside upon my lap. The warmth and pressure and closeness... _this is going to be a very distracted lesson..._

I clear my throat. She wriggles and snickers.

"H-hal'ika," I exhale in half-humor and a half-reprimand, grabbing her close to still her _distracting_ movements.

"Din'ika," she taunts, knowing full well she's making this...well _difficult_ for me.

"Kar's watching," I grunt. 

He coos as if on cue.

She giggles, glancing to the little one with a blush upon her cheeks. 

"Alright, I'll behave," she says. "I'm now ready to learn piloting, Captain Djarin."

"Ok Dr. Djarin," I smirk at her, teasing with the use of her title which earns a chuckle. 

I glance over at Kar to ensure he isn't up to anything, but instead he seems intrigued by our actions.

"Let's start with the basics. See these switches here on the left?" I point.

She nods.

"That's the power sequence - it opens up the power from the powercore to the cabin and other auxiliary functions like life support, as well as the fuel line. The first step is activating the power sequence switches. Just go down the row and flip them up," I instruct, deciding to just let her delve straight into it.

"Got it, power sequence activate," she repeats, then goes down the row, petite hands flipping the controls and the Crest's cabin hums to life.

"Like that?" she asks, turning so she can glance at me from the corner of her eye.

"Yep."

I can see her cheek dimple from the large smile she's obviously wearing.

 _My_ kar'ta _is so full, I can barely take a full_ haal.

"Now, let's set up navigation," I point at the gridded screen. "Go to 'Recent' and select 18.9084 degrees South, 75.9967 degrees East - that's Theed."

She locks the coordinates.

"Good, ok now disengage the safety and activate the engine engagement," I point to the red then green switch buttons on the right-side dash.

She nimbly flips the buttons.

"Now press both ignition switch buttons overhead - these will start the engines," I indicate above us.

"Ok," she reaches, lifting herself a little from my lap as she presses each - the engines instantly whir to standby. A quick visual out the window at each shows both look to be running without any issue.

"Now check fuel level, engine temperatures, powercore outflow, and periphery sensor data," I point to each one on the dash and then quickly turn my head to check on the known flight-saboteur, but he remains in his seat, politely watching us.

"All are within the green," she reports.

"Good," I double-check the sensor data. 

"Here are the external lights if it was dark out, but no need for external lighting during the day." I briefly explain the other key controls on the dash and she listens attentively.

"Ok, now for the fun stuff," I press my torso against her back and rest my helm's chin over her shoulder to better see the forward dash. 

"Fun stuff, huh?" she chuckles, turning to look into my visor.

Her eyes twinkle with curiosity and excitement, further encouraging my own enthusiasm.

"On these joystick controls," I reach around her arm to point, "the red buttons on top are for the blaster cannons. Unless you're trying to take out an enemy, it's best to avoid those," I say. 

She chuckles, the bright light of the day shining on her face as she angles again to look at me. 

"Otherwise these joysticks control acceleration and forward-directional steering - The Crest can do a lot, but she can't back up," I further explain. 

She nods. 

I double-check everything is in order and verbally repeat all preflight steps in order.

"You going to test me later?" she teases.

"Maybe Hal'ika," I chuckle, chest tight with pride.

"Ok, we're clear for take off. Well, there's just two more steps," I encourage, feeling excitement brimming my veins. 

_She's really going to learn flying._

"What might those be?" she asks.

"First, we'll increase fuel flow to the engines by engaging the throttle," I point to the metal joystick with the round metal ball to our right. 

"That's Kar's favorite!" she cheerfully acknowledges.

I chuckle.

"Push it forward slowly, you can start with half-way since we're not leaving the atmosphere," I direct.

She pushes it forward and the engines' humming crescendos.

"What's the next step?"

"A kiss for your instructor," I say shyly, not quite sure how that slipped out. I blush hotly under my _buy'ce_ as she giggles and shifts.

"A kiss huh?"

I nod, swallowing hard at my _mesh'la riduur_ upon my lap.

She gently slips up my helm, placing a gentle kiss upon my lips.

"Like that?" she asks, lips still hovering close in almost a whisper, the bucket effectively blinding me in its partially-lifted position.

" _Lek_ , yeah," I nod, swallowing my _kar'ta_ back into place. 

She slowly lowers my _buy'ce_ down and my eyes meet hers, darkened by excitement and passion.

"Are we ready to fly now?" she bites her lower lip, looking back at the controls.

 _Back to business Din…_ I will my pulse to slow and lungs to _haalur_.

"Yes, we are ready. Firmly grab each joystick - careful of the red buttons," I gesture and she eagerly grasps each, making me smile. "Pushing forward is down, back is up, left is left, right is right," I explain.

"Pull back slightly and evenly on both controls - this will set us for take off," I instruct.

She pulls back and the ship slowly ascends.

"Is this ok?" she turns her head, but also her arms - a beginner's mistake.

The ship veers, crashing into the tops of some great trees and sending altitude alarms chiming.

I reactively reach around her, grabbing the controls, trapping her hands beneath mine and leveling us out.

"Always keep your eyes ahead, Hal'ika," I explain sternly, but lovingly. 

"I'm sorry Din," she half-laughs and looks to check on the giggling child. "Well, he's just fine. Any damage to the ship?" she cringes guiltily.

"No, no damage. Can't say as much for the trees," I joke and she nervously laughs.

"I'm so sorry Din," I feel her shaking a little beneath my grip on the joysticks.

_Oh ner Hal'ika._

"I almost crashed my first time too," I admit, setting us back on course and retracting the landing gear.

"No way," she huffs in disbelief.

"My _vod_ , Tren, saved us by taking over when I froze up during what was to be my first solo flight," I reminisce. "Almost flew straight into a fleet of freighter ships coming into Mandalore's atmosphere."

"You're just saying this to make me feel better," she chuckles.

"No, it's true. Thankfully, in the Fighting Corps we always trained in pairs," I huff a laugh. 

_Perhaps I'd share the tale of the Crest later._

"You ready to try again?" I ask softly. "I'll be right here."

"Yes, I'm no quitter," she nods.

"Before I let go, first look at the solid dot on the screen - that's Theed. The blinking dot is us, try to follow the dashed line between - that's the flight path."

"Got it," she nods and I release my hands from over hers. 

"You're doing good, just keep her steady," I encourage. 

_Altitude looks good, no peaks near our path._

"Try to maintain course - you're coming a little too far to the left," I point at the screen.

She corrects and overshoots, but sees her error and glides back to the sweet spot.

" _Jate_ ," I praise. 

_She's catching on quick._

"That means 'good', right?" she asks.

" _Elek_ ," I affirm.

"Hmmm?" 

"Yes," I interpret in Basic. 

"Elek," she repeats.

The evergreens and mountainous terrain pass below. 

Kar coos at the scenery - _Naboo was always a beautiful place, that much I could appreciate._

"It should only be around a fifteen minute flight," I announce, double-checking our course.

We navigate out of the Gallo Mountains, and greenery and great lakes of blue pass beneath us.

"You're doing great Hal'ika," I encourage.

" _Vor'e_ ," she replies.

My veins flood with warmth, like the sun-bathed rivers that pass below.

Before too long, the waterfalls and jade-domed roofs of Theed come into view.

"Landing is tricky so I'll take over from here," I say as we near the city's edge.

"Be my guest," she agrees.

I take over the controls and aim for ship parking ahead on the periphery. I decelerate, flip over the stabilizers, and activate the landing gear, transitioning us to land. I steer into a large open spot between other ships - most are elegant, expensive leisure crafts. 

_We stick out like a bald Wookie -_ our visit will be short and discreet. 

We land and I quickly power down the engines and cockpit. Hal'ika lifts herself from my lap, turns and smiles at me, nourishing a warmth greater than the sun outside within my . 

" _Vor'e_ for the lessons," she smiles, Naboo's blue skies making her eyes even brighter.

"My pleasure," I nearly stutter. 

_She could take lessons anytime_ , I think selfishly, missing her warmth as she moves farther away.

She grabs Kar and we make our way down into the cargo bay. 

"Anything else to bring?" she asks, holding _ad'ika_ close.

"I have my weapons and currency," I nod and that earns a chuckle.

_I feel a fuzziness in my chest from the fact that I manage to make her laugh._

I open the ramp and the sights and sounds of lush Theed come into view. Last-second, I decide to throw on a cloak to draw less attention - Imps could still be on our trail.

"Nice wardrobe change," she looks me up and down as I step from the bedroom.

"Thought I should try to be less conspicuous," I explain as we walk outside. 

"I'd still be able to spot you in a crowd anywhere," she teases as I close the ramp and sweep the area for any threats.

"I'd hope so, _ner riduur_ ," I quip back. 

_I hope no one was looking for us here - the fact that Theed was a prestigious location put the odds on our side._

"Where to first?" she looks at me as the kid looks around in fascination.

"There's a medical supply store a few blocks away on a corner - used to pick up supplies for the ship and Tulata there," I explain.

"Who's Tulata?" she asks, a twinkle in her eye.

I huff a laugh, she must think she was a _special_ friend the way she looks at me.

"She was a _girlfriend_?" her eyes light up with surprise.

"Oh no," I chuckle, "she was our medic and the other _beroya's_ sister," I explain as we walk.

She chuckles an 'oh' of realization. 

"What's bear-oy-ah?" she asks.

"Bounty hunter," I interpret and she nods, her cheeks turning pink.

"Have you heard from them - your other Mandalorians?" she looks at me as we continue through town and I scan for any signs of unfriendlies. 

_No one's been following us and I figure no one is listening so I decide to tell her._

"No, well - Paz has actually been with them on another planet - him and a few others, including foundlings, have set up a new covert there," I explain. 

_It felt oddly relieving to tell another about the good news, like I could breathe easier yet again._

"That's incredible news!" she beams, grabbing my hand and squeezing. The child chirps his excitement too. "We should visit!"

My heart leaps at her words. I'd love for her to meet the surviving covert, but it might not yet be for a while.

"Perhaps when I know the Imps are no longer a threat," I sigh.

"I don't know if they're even interested anymore," she shrugs.

"Something tells me that we haven't seen the last of them," I say, a little more facetious than intended. 

_Her mother was still with Gideon...didn't she want to attempt another rescue?_

"You might be right - if so, we'll deal with it when it happens," she decides.

She doesn't elaborate so I drop the subject.

We turn and walk down a couple more blocks and finally arrive at Doc Millo's Medical Surplus Supply Store.

 _I hope he doesn't recognize me,_ I suddenly feel mild social-dread when we near the entrance.

Hal'ika grins like a Mando about to pillage a weapons shop. I don't have the heart to tell her not to go nuts.

We enter the store as a few shoppers file out. 

"We need a few of those," she says, spotting something in one of the exiting patron's hands.

We walk in and it immediately smells like an antiseptic factory, just like I remember.

"Smells like my hospital," she beams, making me chuckle.

"Mando!" a jovial voice sounds from behind the register. "You're still alive!"

_Kriff, my cloak isn't very effective..._

"Hey Doc," I grumble, "with a little thanks to you."

The elderly Mon Calamari scuffles over to greet us.

Halarys shoots me a surprised look.

"A Dathomirian? I haven't seen one of you in ages!" he adjusts his thick bifocals and grabs her hands to inspect them.

"Less than ten percent Dathomirian, the rest human," she corrects, blushing.

"Mando, is this your wife?" he boisterously meddles, staring at me for my response.

I nod then sigh - I didn't really feel like shooting gossip with the man, but he has always been a help so I suppose I owed it to him.

"She's a bit young isn't she?" he has no filter and Halarys just laughs.

"How old do you think I am?" I sneer, probably sounding more irritated than intended.

"Oh and this child!" Millo's eyes manage to grow even larger.

"He's my son," I explain.

He looks at me quizzically.

"Adopted," I spell it out for the old man.

"Oh yes, yes, of course," he dismisses and reaches to touch the little one's hand. "I've never seen his species before. Where -?"

"Do you have one liter Lactated Ringer bags and propofol?" Halarys cuts him off, changing the subject. She hands Kar to me and away from the store owner. "I also need bacta spray and gel, biosyn suture thread, number ten scalpels, peripheral IV kits…," she grabs Doc's hand and trails off amidst the aisles.

"Looks like we'll let them shop, kid," I sigh in relief. 

_Doc was a good man, but could be more than a little nosy. The less he knows about you, the better for all of us,_ I think looking at the wide-eyed kid.

Kar soon starts scoping around taking in the store. He reaches over my shoulder at something behind me.

"What do you see?" I turn.

A display model of a bulkier version of that device Pershing gave him meets my sight. 

"Bah," he points, clearly wanting to play.

"Your mother might almost be done," I try to dissuade him.

"Baahhh!" he says louder, drawing attention from the other customers who quickly look away at my gaze. 

"Baaahhh!!" he points excitedly and the device starts levitating. "Bah! Bah!" 

" _K'uur_. Ok, sshhh," I grab his hand to cease his actions and the device drops back on the display shelf. 

I reach for it, giving in, quickly looking around to make sure no one saw his magic trick. Thankfully it appears no one has.

"Bah!" he chirps in victory.

I sigh. 

_You can't do that around strangers,_ I think to him, not sure what else to do. 

I let him play with it as Halarys continues her shopping spree. I keep an eye on her and the other shoppers to make sure none are following her too closely or seem too interested in us. 

"Krrrrtaahh," he burbles at me, clawing at my cuirass as if trying to pull it off, clearly bored of using it on himself.

He tries the thing on me, but frowns when he mustn't be able to work through the beskar. 

"You're lucky you're _coplika_ ," I sigh thoroughly in defeat, shifting him to pop a side of the cuirass open under the robe. He peeps in glee.

"You really like that, uh," I look at the name, "CM900 digital stethoscope huh?" 

"Proof you do have a heart," Doc's exuberant voice chimes.

I sigh and turn. 

_Privacy is a thing of the past with ad'ika...but it's a small price to pay for the little womp rat._

"This one aims to be a healer like his mum I see," he chuckles. "Let me tell you, I'll throw in the display model for forty percent of the packaged price just for the little one."

"Twenty percent," I haggle just for a kick, using my best Guild voice.

"Thirty," the doc adjusts his glasses watching the kid, who now reaches to him as his next victim.

"Twenty," I maintain my ground.

"Fine, twenty percent," he backs down at the sight of the adorable kid wanting to explore. "You drive a hard-bargain Mando."

Halarys soon turns the corner with a repulsocart-full of supplies. 

_Holy Manda_ , my jaw drops at what must be half of the store. The damn device picks up my distress and beeps.

She chuckles and apologizes for the large volume. 

"I see he's found another new toy," she gestures, clearly finding my predicament amusing.

"I have a soft spot for him," I admit, huffing a laugh and he coos, looking up at me. 

"Let's ring you up," Doc encourages.

"K, kid, I need to armor up." His ears droop a little as I pull him away to clasp the plate back into place.

He takes it out of his ears and studies the little screen. It's like Halarys' scanner, but smaller and somewhat lower-quality. It seems to take recordings of organs.

_He'll have fun with it._

Hal'ika takes back Kar as I pay with a few _meshuroke_ that has Doc intrigued, leaving us with only eight. 

"Stop by again soon, Mando and family!" his jolly voice rumbles.

I nod and position the half-dozen jumbo bags on my arms for the trip back. 

_A good workout_ , I think to myself.

"Sorry for going nuts - they carry a lot of useful things Outer Rim places rarely do," she explains.

"It's well worth it," I acknowledge. "Hopefully it takes us a very long while to go through it."

She chuckles with Kar in her arms as he chooses her as his next victim.

 _He is going to be a healer, huh?_ I ponder.

Shortly, my attention is preoccupied with monitoring a man who's still following us from the storefront.

_I don't trust him._

We turn the corner to the parking lot.

"Hal'ika, take Kar inside now," I open the ramp.

"What?" she turns and looks to see what's wrong.

"Go," I say sternly, grabbing for my blaster beneath the cloak. 

_I didn't want to alarm the possible threat that we were onto him._

She nods and hastens her pace to the ship a few paces ahead.

The man continues walking past and I ease up.

_Perhaps I'm a little on-edge...but one can never be too careful._

I scan the area with my HUD for any other suspicious figures. Satisfied, I turn and walk up into the Crest.

"Sorry for the scare" I say as the ramp closes behind me. 

I feel something is off as the last syllable falls from my mouth.

A familiar behemoth figure emerges from past the bedroom, with Halarys and Kar in his grip. My blood courses with adrenaline, fueling the fire in my veins.

I drop the bags and draw my blaster as he chuckles sinisterly, holding his great hand over her mouth and pinning Kar within her arms.

"Boooeerr!!" Kar cries.

"Mando!" her unmistakable shrill voice squeaks from behind. "You're quite the family man now, aren't you?"

I turn, but before I can react, one of her blades sinks sharply into my upper chest. 

"That's for leaving us to rot on that New Republic prison ship," she hisses.

"Boooeeerrr!!!" Kar pleads. "Booooeeerrr!!!"

Halarys' muffled screams echo in my helmet.

_How did they escape? How did they find us?_

"Seems I hit a soft spot, huh Mando?" she taunts with fake sympathy flashing a wicked grin.

She got me good...and deep. 

The room starts spinning as I attempt to aim my blaster, but she nimbly knocks it out of my hand. I fall to my knees.

My reaction time is slowing - everything is warm...and heavy.

"Xi'an, p-please," I resort to seeking what sliver of mercy she might still carry.

"'P-pwease,' he says," she chuckles, glancing at her Devaronian cohort, then tsks. 

She runs her hand over the blade and twists it deeper, blood seeping and soaking my flight suit.

"Xi'an!" I choke and gasp at the excruciating pain. She rips it out as she steps back, snickering and admiring her revenge.

"Boooeeeerrr!!" 

Kar's cries and Halarys's muted agony drives an invisible knife into my gut. I hold pressure over the profusely bleeding wound.

"Thought it would be nice for your family to watch, Mando," she sadistically giggles and Burg chuckles.

"Quality entertainment," he rumbles. 

"What do you say, Mando? Let's give 'em something they won't forget!" 

She suddenly throws another knife which I barely anticipate and block. The Crest feels like it's rocking back-and-forth in flight.

Another comes and it ricochets off my vambrace and glances off my pauldron.

I'm out of what little strength I possess, and the next I can't block. It stabs sharp into my shoulder, but the pain is barely perceptible with my dulled senses.

"Boooeer!!" 

"That makes two for you and two for me," she smirks. "I think we need a tie-breaker - what do you think?"

She steps close, getting on her knees right before me. She throws off my hood.

"Don't," I ask her.

"Don't what? Don't remove your helmet?" she taunts, curling her blood-soaked fingers underneath the edge. She laughs, removing her hand, "Not quite yet, Mando."

She leans in, almost embracing me. I try to push her off, but I can't fight her. My life drains with each heartbeat. Limbs are impossibly heavy and breathing is a losing battle - I cough, my mouth thickly coated with metallic proof of just how badly she got me.

_Halarys - Kar - they're in danger. I must get to them._

But my body won't work. 

_I'm dying._

"This is for Qin," she growls into my earpiece, voice drenched in pure hatred with vengeance at its rotten core. 

Just when I think my senses are dulled, I feel an excruciating sharp and biting pain in my chest as she slowly sinks another blade, this time up under my cuirass. The warmth of my blood quickly wets my flight suit. 

_Ner aliit. I must protect them..._

Xi'an holds me as I collapse and peers into my visor, her cold eyes glistening with regretful rage and tears.

"Din!!!" Halarys' blood-curdling scream is the last thing I hear. 

_Ner aliit...ni ceta._

Everything grows distant. 

Pain fades.

The world drifts peacefully into euphoric darkness.

><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><

**Mando'a Terminology**

_Ba'gedet'ye_ \- You're welcome

 _Buir_ \- Father/Mother - Kar associates it with Din, pronouncing it as "booooeerr"

 _Copikla_ \- Cute, charming (only for babies/animals - impolite to use for an adult)

 _Cyar’ika_ \- Sweetheart, darling

 _Haal_ \- Breath

 _Haalur_ \- Breathe

 _Jahaala_ \- Healthy

Jate - Good

 _Jate'kara_ \- Destiny, luck

 _Jate vaar'tur,_ _ner Kar'ta_ \- Good morning, my Heart/Soul (Kar's name stems from kar'ta)

 _Kar’ta_ \- Heart/soul

 _Kar'tayl darasuum_ \- Love

 _K'uur_ \- Hush

 _Mesh’la_ \- Beautiful/handsome

 _Meshuroke_ \- Gemstones

 _Ni ceta_ \- I'm sorry (heart-wrenching apology, rarely said)

 _Ner aliit_ \- My family

 _Sheb'ika_ \- Booty, butt (cheeky Din!)

 _Tion serim?_ \- is that right?

 _Vor’e_ \- Thank you

\-->Sorry if I missed some words! I got a little lazy making a list as I wrote ><

\-------------------------------------------------------

 **Author’s Note:** I am so sorry for the horrible cliffhanger. It’s the worst one I think I’ve made to date. I felt ill writing it, but you know I love Din too much to do anything permanent!! Better times are ahead! 

The next update should hopefully be out before Season 2 airs (ie, end of October) - work has been more demanding lately, so updates are not as frequent as I’d like. I promise this is not the end!

Thank you for reading my story. And special thanks to the lovely and talented MiJo for allowing me to use some of her original Mandalorian characters (Tulata, Vayra, and Tharam) in my story. If you like strong female characters, Mandalorian culture, Mando’a, grit and action, check out her story: _The Colours of Manda’yaim_ here on AO3!


	37. Episode XXXVII - Vencuyanir [To Keep Alive]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What will happen to the Mudhorn Clan of Three?
> 
> Warnings: Blood (much more than is canon-typical), injuries, medical treatment.

_Din!!_

I try to scream, but it's muffled by the Devaronian's cruel, calloused hand. I struggle and kick against his stronghold, watching in horror as the Twi'lek easily kicks the blaster from Din, sending it clattering to the ground, her throwing knife still lodged deep in his upper chest.

He falls to his knees and my heart plummets to the same level.

_He's seriously injured._

"Xi'an, p-please," his ragged voice implores. 

_An angry shiver runs down my spine as I vaguely recognize the name - someone from Din’s past, but I can't quite recall._

"'P-pwease,' he says," she mocks with sarcastic sympathy, chuckling and sending us a wicked glance. 

She tsks and returns her full attention back to her prey, stepping close. She carefully runs her hand over the blade before viciously twisting it deeper - _it’s as though I can feel its slicing bite in my own chest and tears of rage and helplessness sear my eyes and a trapped, agonizing scream burns my throat_. 

"Xi'an!" Din’s raspy voice calls out in agony, chest unsteadily heaving. She hastily rips out the dagger as she steps back, snickering.

 _Din!!!_ _Nooo!!!!!_ I desperately try to call out, but the unyielding hand stifles my pleas.

"Booooeeerrr!!" Kar wails, pinned in my arms, underneath the large man's unrelenting grip.

Despite the hand Din presses over his wound, blood steadily trickles from his already-saturated cowl down over his cuirass and cloak, feeding a growing dark red pool on the ground.

I scream for him again, but it's useless - I'm panicking.

"Thought it would be nice for your family to watch, Mando," she sadistically giggles, pointing a knife our way, and the Devaronian chuckles. 

"Quality entertainment," her equally-vile cohort adds, voice rumbling at my back. 

"What do you say, Mando? Let's give 'em something they won't forget!" the crazy woman gleefully squeaks.

She suddenly throws another knife, which Din _barely_ anticipates and blocks with his free arm. I can tell his reflexes are sluggish and he’s weakening by each passing second.

My eyes widen at the growing crimson puddle.

_I have to get to him - he's losing too much blood._

She throws another with sickening force and it glances off his vambrace and cloak-covered pauldron.

The Twi’lek gives no warning as she wickedly throws another, hitting him square in the right shoulder.

"Boooeerr!" Kar desperately screeches, his voice hoarse from crying out.

"That makes two for you and two for me," she smirks. "I think we need a tie-breaker - what do you think?" she looks over at us with an evil grin.

_Why is she doing this?_

My heart is breaking and guts impossibly twisting - our son is witnessing his father being tortured...and I fear worse.

_He is very critically wounded. At the rate he's bleeding he has minutes at best..._

I frantically try to break loose from the vice-grip that threatens to crush bones. It only makes the Devaronian chuckle and tighten his grip.

_I need to stop her - I need to get to him._

The sadistic Twi'lek positions on her knees and throws off his cloak’s hood.

"Don't," Din demands, but his tone is pleading.

_I don’t think I’ve ever heard him plead before - it macerates something deep inside me._

_I know what he's asking her - he's begging her to not break his Creed._

"Don't what? Don't remove your helmet?" she taunts, curling her blood-soaked fingers underneath its edge. She laughs, roughly withdrawing her hand, "Not quite yet, Mando."

As she leans into Din, seemingly whispering something into his earpiece, my teeth finally gain purchase on the Devaronian's large hand and I bite as hard as I can, focusing all of my fury into the red flesh.

"You kriffing -," the Devaronian growls, momentarily withdrawing his iron-clad grip just as the Twi'lek drives the blade up under Din's cuirass, deep into his abdomen.

"Diiiiiiiiiin!!!" I scream so violently my throat might bleed.

His limp weight slumps against her, more of his blood expanding the red pool in front of him.

The stumped-horn Devaronian attempts covering my mouth again, but electric rage and desperation like never before ripples through my bones and erupts from my core.

Kar fiercely wails and suddenly our captor's grip fails - I'm unsure which of us broke it.

"What the?" the Devaronian grumps, stumbling backward.

We slip away and before I know it, Kar has a Force-chokehold on the Twi'lek. The wicked woman lifts from the ground, gagging and gasping, bloodied knife falling from her hand and clattering on the cargo bay floor as she desperately and vainly claws at the invisible hold around her neck. 

My eyes fall to where her knife lays - near Din. He’s losing more blood than he can afford. The rise and fall of his breath reassures he’s still alive if not barely.

I need to treat him, but I can't before dealing with the assailants first. My eyes snap up to the suffocating Twi’lek.

_I want her dead for what she's done, but her life can't be on Kar's little hands._

Trudging steps sound behind us as the Devaronian stalks. I whip around, fury running hot like an inferno through my veins, and violently throw him back against the wall.

I hit the button to open the hatch and then grab Kar's hands, breaking his Force-grip from the woman - he screeches in defiance. 

With invisible strength and like the Togruta had shown me with the rocks, I lift and hurtle the Twi'lek out first, she lands hard on the cobblestone unconscious or dead - I'm unsure and don't really care. The Devaronian then charges at us with a bellowing roar, and I leverage his forward momentum to rocket him out of the ship to join his cohort. He crashes heavily into a nearby craft, leaving a giant dent in its hull and rendering him incapacitated, at least for now.

I quickly shut the ramp and hit the emergency lock so they can't re-enter (somehow they'd gotten aboard in the first-place and I don't need it happening again). I also don't know if there are others and worry more might be on their way after my act of retaliation. 

We need to get out of here, but Din needs prompt medical attention.

_Oh my poor Din!_

I pivot and immediately drop to his side, setting down a woozy Kar. I then shift his unconscious frame supine and apply pressure to the newest wound that enters beneath his cuirass - it’s bleeding more heavily than the chest wound. The knife remains in his shoulder, but thankfully doesn't look to be in a worrisome area - the other two stab injuries are my priority. With my other hand, I quickly pull off his helmet to check his airway - his eyes are closed, and blood coats his lips and trickles from his nares, but his airway appears clear as he's still breathing; however, it's rapid, ragged and slightly gurgly. 

My stomach churns, panic clamoring up my throat, trying to take over.

"Din," I check if he can hear me. "Din, _ner riduur_ . _Ner riduur_." I nudge his face with my freehand.

_He's unresponsive._

I work aside his cowl and feel for a pulse. 

_It's thready and irregular._

I know he's hypovolemic with how much of his blood I'm currently kneeling in. The sweet-metallic smell of iron hangs impossibly thick in the air and my senses swim helplessly as I try to gather my thoughts.

_I need to gain source control._

I need to expose his injuries. The knife in his shoulder has to go so I can remove his layers. Carefully and slowly, I retract the wicked little blade from his shoulder, monitoring that it isn't staunching any large vessels, but it doesn't bleed too badly so I withdraw it fully. Maintaining pressure with one hand on the abdominal wound, I shuck away the cloak, remove his cuirass, and then open his thick flak vest. 

"Din, you wear too many layers," I deliriously grouse at his unconscious form, biting back stinging tears.

Freeing my other hand from the wound, which immediately starts oozing again, I employ the knife that had been in his shoulder, quickly slicing open the flightsuit midline to better visualize and treat his injuries. 

"Booeerrr," Kar coos sadly.

"Shhh, it's ok," I try to comfort him, but my voice lacks confidence - the raw truth is that I _don't_ know if he's going to be ok, but I desperately try not to allow emotion to take over. Din needs me with my head clear and focused, not blubbering and panicked. 

I toss the knife away, parting the fabric to expose his torso. The shoulder injury is merely a flesh wound that isn’t bleeding much and can definitely wait, but now that I can clearly see the chest wound - the initial wound the Twi’lek inflicted - it really has me concerned. It's now hissing, or at least now I can hear it with the layers peeled away. Pneumothorax is imminent. 

I apply pressure with one hand to the heavily-bleeding abdominal wound and cover the hissing chest wound to prevent any further air entry with the other. 

_I really need a full trauma team for this level of damage,_ I think, allowing an ounce of panic to seep into my psyche. 

His accessory muscles struggle and strain to help him breathe. 

His thick, red blood saturates my hands.

_He’s deteriorating._

_._

_._

_._

_He’s actively dying._

_._

_._

_._

Tears well in my eyes and bile rises to the back of my tongue as panicked helplessness slowly eviscerates any hope to save him.

.

.

.

No. 

.

.

.

NO.

.

.

.

I _can_ do this. 

.

.

.

I _will_ do this.

.

.

.

_I need to keep calm._

_._

_._

_._

I take a deep breath. 

.

.

.

And another. 

.

.

.

_I know what I need to do._

_._

_._

_._

_I need to_ heal _him._

_._

_._

_._

I close my eyes and try to gather my thoughts.

.

.

.

_Heal._

_._

_._

_._

Eyes closed, I concentrate my energy and all thoughts into making his tissue whole again.

.

.

.

 _Heal_.

.

.

.

I feel his warmth beneath my hands - my husband, my life, my forever.

.

.

.

_Heal._

.

.

.

I press my palms more firmly into the wounds. 

.

.

.

 _Heal,_ I plead with the invisible Force. _Please heal him._

.

.

.

But more of his blood rushes from beneath my hand, flowing across his skin and pooling onto and saturating the sheared fabric. 

.

.

.

 _It’s not working._

.

.

.

_I’m not working._

.

.

.

This has to work. It just _has_ to. I have no other option.

Panic tries to sink it's wiry grip into my gut again, but I take another deep breath to stave it off.

.

.

.

 _Heal,_ I press more firmly into the gushing wound. 

.

.

.

But the bleeding won’t stop.

.

.

.

"Please heal!" I yell at my useless, blood-stained hands, tears of anguish and frustration clouding my vision, panic now sinking its claws deep into my chest.

.

.

.

 _I don't think I_ can _heal…_

_._

_._

_._

I close my eyes, trying to gather my thoughts again ... suddenly, I feel a pressure on the back of my hand.

I open my eyes.

It's Kar - he holds his hands over mine.

"Please help _buir_ ," I plead. I feel sick asking it of our son, but I need his help. Din needs his help. And he clearly wants to. Din’s injuries are far too severe and time-sensitive for one person and conventional treatment. 

This is his _only_ hope for survival. 

Kar coos weakly, having already used some of his energy on revenge earlier, but his eyes close and soon the familiar static energy passes through my hands and into Din's damaged flesh. I feel the wound begin to close and shrink beneath my palm. 

Hope rushes into my heart and tears flood my eyes.

After performing the incredible miracle, Kar’s little hands fall away from mine and he drops to his backside, immensely fatigued from the feat.

"Thank you," tears trail down my cheeks - I want to caress our little one, but my hands are drenched in blood and Din still requires my full attention for his other wounds.

I gingerly lift my hand from his abdomen, revealing only a small, scantly bleeding cut. 

The bleeding there is under control. He has a fighting chance now.

I check his carotid pulse, which is unsurprisingly declined from prior.

"Din? Can you hear me?" I nudge his cheek in vain with my freehand, unintentionally smearing rich red blood on his pale, tranquil face. I quickly check his pupils which are equal and responsive to the ship's ambient lighting - it reassures me that his brain is still receiving enough oxygen despite the large volume of blood loss.

I know my hands won’t heal the Force-way, so I do what I have been trained to do. And now that I have a freehand, I get to work scavenging from the conveniently-placed medical supplies surrounding us in shopping bags. I'm immeasurably grateful we'd stocked up on so many supplies.

Kar watches with weary eyes, and reassuringly coos as if he’s confident I can manage the rest.

Quickly gathering my immediately-needed supplies, I open a bottle of bacta with my teeth, then remove my hand from the chest wound, generously dousing the exposed tissue with bacta to start healing the inner tissue. I grab the flat rigid plasticine packing of a peripheral IV kit and place it over the wound, sealing three sides of it with surgical tape, leaving one side open so air from around his lung can escape but not re-enter the makeshift one-way valve. It will reinflate his lung if it had partially collapsed, which I strongly suspect it had.

Needing to confirm his lung is responding to the treatment measures, I grab the new stethoscope that had fallen from Kar in the earlier commotion. Quickly, I place it into my ears and press the round device-end to his chest, near the affected lung. His breathing sounds less wet and labored and the stethoscope's small image projection shows his lung has minimal air around it. It’s working. He’s still critical, tachypneic, tachycardic, and in desperate need of volume repletion, but improving. 

I remove the stethoscope and start on my next task, shucking off his glove and quickly prepping his hand for an IV. Despite losing so much blood, I find a vein without a tourniquet and insert the needle, leaving the flexible cannula in place, securing it with tape. Incredibly thankful I'd just stocked up on this invaluable supply, I hang a liter of artificial universal human blood products from the pipes above, prime the line, connect the tubing to his IV, and start an intermediate gravity-drip.

I check his vitals and he's holding stable. 

_Thank gods you're tougher than a female blurrg during mating season_ , I huff a laugh at the ridiculous yet accurate comparison.

With the stethoscope, I check his chest wound again with the imaging and it appears the pleura and chest wall have already closed. I rummage through the bags for biosyn thread and use a new suturing needle instead of my beskar one so I don't need to venture from his side.

I remove the makeshift valve and start closing the nasty wound - it takes a line of fourteen stitches. I cover the injury with a bacta patch and check his vitals again. 

He’s improving.

“Thank gods,” I mutter under my breath and Kar warbles, looking at me with hopeful, relieved eyes. 

I then clean, suture, and apply a bacta patch to his shoulder wound and then a bacta patch to his mostly-healed abdominal wound. I administer an antibiotic bacta injection as a precaution since I don’t trust where that vile Twi’lek’s blades have been. 

I check his vitals again and he's continuing to improve.

“We did it,” I sigh, exhaling what feels like a breath I'd been holding this entire time and falling to my bottom next to Kar. I just sit and watch Din breathe. 

_He’s breathing._

_He’s alive._

The ship violently shudders and I my heart jumps into my throat.

_Kriff - we're under attack!_

"Din, please wake up!" I scramble over to nudge his face.

_No response._

"Din!" I pat his cheek in rapid succession but nothing. 

“Din!” I go for a sternal rub.

“Hmmmm,” he mutters, eyes fluttering open for a moment then shut. 

The Crest shudders again, metal creaking under protest. I hear the Devaronian growl outside.

“Din!” I shake his shoulders - he barely stirs. He’s still too weak, but the fact I got him to rouse for even a second is good news. 

_Bad news is that I’m on my own right now._

“You stay with buir,” I firmly direct Kar as the hull takes another bone-clattering hit from the brute outside.

I scale the ladder to the cockpit and through the window I spot a small group of mean-looking Weequays holding a blaster cannon. The Twi’lek is angrily directing them.

_She's already up too?_

They fire a blaster cannon at the front of the ship and the Crest shudders.

_I have to get us out of here…after one lesson._

The ship shudders again.

 _Think Halarys, think!!_ I try to recall the sequence to fire up the ship.

I seat myself in the pilot chair, trying to center my thoughts. 

_The first step is…_ I look around the dash to jog my memory and try to replay Din’s lessons from earlier. 

_Power sequence!_ The initial step strikes my memory, I sweep up the row of switches to the left and the cabin hums to life, along with a bunch of warning signals and blinking red lights, no doubt caused by the damage the bastards from outside are inflicting.

 _Kriff, now what?_ I glance around. 

The ship quakes violently again and the warning signals seem to only grow louder. 

_If only I could fight back..._

_Cannons!! The ship has blaster cannons!_ I grab at the joysticks, aiming down and press the red buttons in unison, eliciting a terra-shaking, red, fiery dust-cloud in front of the ship.

Trigger-happy, I fire again, but this time my aim is off, hitting a nearby parked ship. I cringe at the large char-mark left in its otherwise immaculate blue paint job.

My initial aim had been terrible and the assailants disperse, some disoriented, but others just look straight pissed, especially Xi’an, and are now firing at the cockpit and engines. 

They’ve moved out of firing range now. I’m a sitting porg.

_I have to fly us out of here now…_

I break out in a cold sweat - I'm completely out of my depths.

The ship vibrates and shudders, continuing to take the volley of blaster and blaster cannon fire.

 _Ok power sequence, then what?_ I reign in my panic, eyes scrolling over the dash.

 _Yes!_ I spot the red safety and green engine activation switch buttons and activate each on the right dash - the rest easily falls into place.

 _Then the ignition switch buttons_ \- I press each overhead. 

_Finally the throttle_ \- I push the lever full, figuring I need all the thrust I could use.

I grab the joysticks, pulling back and the ship shakily ascends and warning alarms continue.

Some icons are red on the display, but I don’t know what they mean. I just pray she gets us out of here as my adrenaline runs high and wild like the warning alarms.

Another hit from the attackers below and the ship starts to pull to the left. I attempt to correct, and start moving sideways.

A tall parked ship is suddenly in my way and I try to steer clear, but the Crest’s belly hits, jarring us and the high, ear-piercing screech of metal-on-metal fills the air. I can hear the anti-theft alarms of the damaged ship wailing.

_Kriff!_

I maneuver to the other side in an attempt to level us out, but we jolt as I nail another parked ship. 

_I’m sorry Din_ , I cringe, no doubt putting another large dent in the Crest. 

I finally pull us up and away, gaining altitude.

_I feel like I’m forgetting something…_

_The landing gear!_ I hit the buttons I recall Din selecting earlier today and there’s a whining hydraulic-like noise, so I assume it worked.

Just as my heart settles in it's normal place, the Crest’s coms are being hailed.

Droid police cruisers appear on either side, lights and sirens blaring. 

_Kriff! What do I do?_

"This is the Theed Police, we order you to land this ship immediately or force will be employed," their loud-speakers monotonically warn from outside.

_Kriff!_

"This is your final warning -," the droid officers warn emotionlessly.

 _Kriff_ , I frantically try to think. I can't land - I legitimately don't know how!

Suddenly, one cruiser explodes and then the other.

_What the?_

Two rough-looking ships appear on either side. Ships with blaster cannons and they start firing at us. 

_Shit - It's Xi'an et al._ The ship jolts violently under their volley and I struggle to keep the ship ascending.

I veer upward and break away, trying to keep us from spinning out of control and from knocking Din and Kar around too much below, but I don’t know what the hells I’m doing. 

We continue gaining altitude and the clear blue sky starts fading into black.

They fire at us and most miss, streaking ahead of us into space - but the ship rattles as a few shots connect.

I struggle to keep her straight as turbulence violently rattles the injured ship as she breaches the atmosphere and escapes from the brunt of Naboo’s gravitational pull.

The air seems cooler and suddenly thinner.

_Kriff the life support!_

I frantically look around for the controls Din briefly showed me earlier in the day.

_Fuck, where are they?_

My eyes finally catch the oxygen and temperature buttons amongst the dizzying array of controls and I quickly activate them. The air grows warmer and much more satisfying almost instantly. 

I keep her full steam ahead, but the attackers have again positioned themselves on either side and continue firing at us from side-cannons on their ship. The Crest shudders violently and the klaxon alarms grow louder.

_I need to jump us into hyperdrive._

_I could kill us, but I’m out of options._

I quickly scroll through the navigation and haphazardly select one of the first ones in the alphabetical list. 

_Coordinates are locked. Now hyperdrive?_

I stare at the lever I’ve watched Din push so many times before. 

_Here goes nothing_ , I reach and close my eyes, hoping to gods and everything that is good in the galaxy that I don’t disintegrate us in an instant. 

I take a breath, one that very well might be my last, and push the lever. 

.

.

.

I open my eyes.

.

.

.

White streaks pass by. 

.

.

.

_We’re still alive!_

_Oh thank gods!!_

I exhale the breath I’ve been holding this entire time and smile deliriously. 

I did it! Tears flood my eyes and I shake as adrenaline slowly wears off. 

After a few moments and deep breaths to regain composure I look at the navigation screen again more closely:

**_Destination:_ ** _Aq Vetina_

 **_Coordinates:_ ** _RA 3h 25m 33s | Dec +22° 57′ 45″_

 **_Travel time:_ ** _09 hours 32 minutes_

_Aq Vetina? Never heard of it - I hope it’s nice._

“Hal’ika.” 

I turn around to a very unsteady Din holding up his blood replacement.

“Din!” I jump up from the seat.

He collapses on the ground before I can reach him.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Note:** Wow, much stressfulness! The Clan of Three was due for some drama and I think I gave them more than they deserved - but it will all turn out ok because you know I love them too much. More excitement is ahead and some more information on Din’s past is to be realized (I couldn’t resist the destination Halarys chose…). 
> 
> Thank you for reading this story. It gives me life that anyone finds it worth reading. Please leave a comment if you’re still enjoying the adventure or have any critical or complimentary feedback. I live for comments.
> 
> -> **Next Installment:** Chapter XXXVIII - Maan Yaim [Original Home]  
> I hope to have the next chapter out by December 2020! [I’m giving myself longer as work gets busier with interns in the fall and round 2 of COVID]


	38. Ruyot [The Past]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din has some healing to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to APendingThought for reminding me that this series still exists! I apologize for the hiatus. I have a great chunk of the series moving forward outlined, but it will likely be a month or two until the next chapter (yes, I am obsessed with Mandomera, but I still do enjoy this series and have A LOT more to say). Thank you so much for reading and keeping with this story. Also, I cannot believe it's already been a year since I started this, my first fanfiction ever!

_ Beep. _

_. _

_. _

_ Beep. _

_. _

_. _

_ Beep. _

_. _

_. _

_ Beep. _

_. _

_. _

_ Beep _ .

A steady chirp, in sync with the faint throb within my chest and head, greets my ears while I slowly come to. As I open my bleary eyes, the unmistakable strobing of hyperspace floods my vision.

"Din, thank gods!"

I turn to find her lovely, but ghostly form at my side - she looks more pale than I've ever seen her. I suddenly realize I'm sitting reclined in the cockpit chair.

"H-hal'ika," my rough voice manages, blood hangs bittersweet on my tongue. "W-what happened?"

"You passed out," she says, touching my shoulder.

_ I passed out? _

Then the memories from earlier rush back:  _ Xi'an, Burg, panic, helplessness, sharpness, blood, darkness _ . 

She delicately studies her scanner on my chest for a few moments, its beeping growing quicker and stronger, before she finally removes it. She then adjusts the tubing running into the back of my hand hooked up to some IV fluid. 

_ How did I get up to the cockpit? _

I look forward to the navi-screen. 

  
  
  


**_Destination_ ** _ : Aq Vetina _

  
  
  


My heart heaves then feels like it stops altogether within my aching chest.

“Din what is it?”

_ Of all the places ... it can’t be. _

“Din?”

“It’s - it’s my home,” I reply, my weakened heart now frantically racing.

“Your home?”

My lungs suddenly feel rigid, unable to accept an ounce of air. 

"Din!" her scanner is back on my chest, the beeping chaotic, uneven, rapid.

_ My throat closes. _

_ I can't breathe.  _

"Din, breathe," she instructs, kneeling next to the chair, gentle hand on my chest and caressing my cheek.

"Breathe," she encourages, her glowing eyes locked onto mine.

Eventually I gasp, pain catching the wounds and something even deeper, even more painful.

_ Breathe in. _

_ And out. _

_ In. _

_ Out. _

_ In. _

_ Out. _

_ In. _

_ Out. _

_ Breathe. _

The bleating of her scanner gradually grows less frantic and more steady.

"I think you were having a panic attack," she says.

_ A panic attack? _ I finally catch my breath.

I look back at the navigation and the scanner's beeping quickens again.

“I - I haven't been… not since..." 

_ Flashbacks of blaster fire, smoke debris replay on cue. _

The beeping grows dysrhythmic mirroring the erratic pounding beneath my ribs, like the ground-shaking artillery fire replaying in my mind’s eye.

“Din,” her voice calls me back to the present, her glowing blue Dathomirian eyes shining like a beacon. “We can set course elsewhere,” she suggests.

“No…," I shake my head.

"Din…"

I take a deep breath, the chest wound pulling sharply - a reminder I can't escape my past.

"It’s time." I look into her worried eyes.

_ I need closure. _

\----------------------

"Kriff," I bite back a gasp, sitting as still as I can upon the cot.

She tries to be gentle with cleansing the wounds better given Xi’an’s knives were undoubtedly a vector for any number of transmissible diseases, but the antimicrobial stings at it seeps into the stitched chest wound. With how deep the knife had sunk, it seems the Twi’lek had tried her very best to stab my literal heart and steal every ounce of happiness from me - no doubt payback for what I'm sure she feels I had done to her. She hadn't always been so miserable and cruel, but I suppose I didn't help her descent into darkness.

Hell, I dealt plenty of darkness myself - Xi’an and I both had together, as partners. My heart grows cold and hard at the memories, jobs, and being alone...with  _ her _ .

_ ~~~~~~Flashback to many years ago~~~~~~ _

"Hey Mando," her voice purrs, reverberating in the cargo bay of the Crest.

"Xi'an," I greet her, having secured our bounty in carbonite.

"I like how you spared that unarmed man," she smiles, displaying her sharp canines.

"Then why'd you shoot him?"  _ It was a rhetorical question - she was never the one to be merciful when it came to jobs. _

She laughs, tucking away one of her precious throwing knives into her belt. Then her dark eyes fall to my chest, widening in shock.

"You're hurt," she hushes, quickly closing the distance. She runs her hands delicately where a blade had managed to slice through the layers of underclothing to my flesh, along the edge of my cuirass.

"I'm fine," I dismiss, heart still pounding from the skirmish and now from her proximity. It truly wasn’t  _ that _ bad of a stab wound.

"Mando -," she persists, eyes trying to meet mine through the visor.

I grab her wrist to give her a more deliberate hint. But she grabs mine with her other hand, her fingertips pressing over my pulsepoint. I know she can feel my racing blood and I just wait for an unsolicited sexually-themed comment.

Instead, she looks into my eyes, seemingly finding them through the dark glass. She hadn't ever looked at me like that before...something I had never seen in her eyes now resides:  _ Care? Genuine concern? _

"Please let me help," her tone is that of worry, not demanding or lust-filled like it can be. 

_ She's so much softer than her earlier self - this is a side of her I'd never seen. But it must be a farce - a manipulation of some sort. She always wanted something. _

Surprisingly, she doesn't pressure about removing the chestplate or any article of clothing for that matter. She just looks so very worried.

With a sigh, I remove the upper-body armor and shuck off the flak vest and upper flight suit so the wound can be properly treated. I brace myself for an onslaught of inappropriate, objectifying words and unwarranted physical contact.

But no lewd comments about my state of undress are made. Zero comments are made at all. She doesn't even look for longer than needed for her task. 

_ I can't believe it. _

With how tender her usually brutal hands apply the stolen bacta, I have to double-check that it's still the same murderous Twi'lek before me. She looks like her, but she's completely different - uncharacteristically quiet and focused as she finishes dressing the slash. Her hands then settle on my chest and my heart stirs.

_ She's so warm…I feel cold...but she's so warm... _

\-----------

"You're lucky," Halarys' voice brings me back from the edge of the abyss of regretful memories.

I look up at her, resituating my thoughts. "Doesn't feel that way," I scoff, then grimace from the sharp pain. 

_ It all could have ended horribly - me dead and Xi'an and Burg doing god knows what to her and Kar _ . Acidic bile rises to the back of my throat at the thought.

"Din," her eyes seek mine, but I can't bear to look at her after how miserably I failed to protect her and Kar, at my failure to be careful - instead I had let my guard down and risked  _ their _ lives. 

Unwanted, shameful tears brim in my eyes.

"Please look at me, Din," she rests her hands upon mine.

Against my better judgement, I turn, her eyes full of worry.

"I-I'm sorry.  _ N-ni ceta _ ," emotion erupts from my wounded chest, salted water overflowing from my eyes.

"Oh Din," she caresses my face and leans in, forehead resting against mine. "You have nothing to apologize for."

My body wracks and lungs heave in waves full of fear, shame, regret. My past would always haunt us. I just wanted to keep them safe and I couldn’t even do that. I burrow into the crook of her neck, into her soft cloak of white hair, hair stained with my blood and now tears.  _ I didn’t deserve this kindness - I didn’t didn’t deserve her and Kar’s love. _

She just holds me. Not a word she speaks - only a comforting hand smoothing rhythmically over my back. The pain slowly dissolves away as do the tears, as if she’s absorbing it. She could be for all I know, her and her Force powers - it was almost an unfair advantage she had at consoling me. But I could never be upset with that. My breathing becomes steady and satisfying once again. 

“I think you should rest, my love,” she says. 

I’m suddenly hyperaware of how incredibly tired my body feels, and I cannot protest, so I lean back in the cot. She comes close, nuzzling against my side and resting her head against my chest, ear over my tattered heart.

"Din...I want you to know that I love you no matter what," her voice breaks, “I was so worried I was going t-to l-lose you,” and I feel her tears against my chest and grip her more tightly, never wanting to let go. My heart thunders desperately trying to reach her, reassuring her I'm ok. I'm alive and here. 

"Shhhh - _k’uur, ner kar'ta, ner mesh'la riduur_ ," I whisper into her soft crown  _ [Hush, my heart, my beautiful wife] _ . "Shhhhhh."

The strong woman that was just comforting me dissolves in my arms. But soon, her breaths grow more even. I hold her tight against my heart, its every beat promising I will always do my best to be there and keep fighting. Her form finally relaxes and she falls asleep. Looking down upon her sweet face, I tuck her white hair behind the remnant of her ear - the permanent mark, and reminder Gideon had left upon her. It made her no less beautiful, but the pain, physical and emotional trauma it left, was a reminder that the past would always loom. I feel my heart burn with anger, threatening to burn a hole through my sternum.

But then a cooling softness rests there, and I look down to find Hal'ika now resting her hand beside her face upon my chest. Anger dissipates to comfort and security.

_ I can't let my anger and fear consume me. _

I look over to the pram outside the bunk, the child still resting peacefully inside, having sacrificed a little of his energy to save me earlier. I am eternally grateful to the both of them, for protecting and saving my life. 

But I cannot and will not have my family threatened like that again.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Although I work closely in the ICU with physicians, I am not a physician and my medical knowledge is somewhat limited and there may be mistakes. I tried to research stuff I didn't quite know to be more accurate (why again did I write first-person physician?). I am also not by any means a Star Wars aficionado, so there are likely errors here as well. I tried my best. 
> 
> Don't understand the medical lingo? See Chapter 26 of this series for The Heart of a Mandalorian Warrior - Medical Jargon Explained (Spoilers and Writer Commentary Included): https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954104


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